Who's That Girl?
by uktechgirl
Summary: Crichton runs into a woman wearing a very familiar uniform...but is she all she seems?


TITLE: Who's That Girl?  
  
GENRE: Action/Adventure  
  
RATING: PG13  
  
SUMMARY: Crichton runs into a woman wearing a very familiar uniform...but is she all that she seems?  
  
DISCLAIMER: I don't own them, just borrowing, will put them all back when I'm done, etc etc. Fisher and the Pariekan guys are mine: if for some strange reason you wish to borrow them, please ask first.  
  
SPOILERS: Season 1, mainly. This is set early Season 2 (I started writing it after Vitas Mortis, haven't seen past DaLD, so somewhere between them, I spose). The plan with this was to write a fic which was as much like actually watching a real ep as possible (tho' it's still a fic, not a script, so we do get some interior monologue stuff). So, there's, like, a plot, and everything! Severe hanky warning though...  
  
FEEDBACK: Yes pleeeese! uktechgirl@scape-goat.com  
  
  
'Status report, Pilot,' said Zhaan calmly, as her eyes scanned the stars. Filling the command viewscreen before her, a bright light was flickering and shimmering over the surface of the planet below, changing rapidly from intense, blazing red to a deep indigo, before pulsing back to red again.  
  
'What the frell is that?' Chiana squeaked, almost losing her footing as Moya was suddenly propelled backwards at high speed.  
  
Zhaan cast her a worried look, noticing as she did the way the lights played over the young Nebari's skin, turning her technicolour. Glancing down at her own hands, she saw that they too were reflecting the coloured lights, and shivered involuntarily.  
  
'Nothing to be concerned about,' Pilot said, blinking at them placidly through the holo-image. 'It appears to be nothing more than a debris storm in the planet's upper atmosphere.'  
  
'Then why is Moya's orbit so unstable?' asked Zhaan.  
  
Pilot's arms moved slowly over a few sensors as he spoke.  
  
'Moya is...alarmed by the storm. She is keen to remain at a safe distance.'  
'Could this stuff be harmful to her, Pilot?' Chiana's anxious eyes stared at the swirls of glittering dust.  
  
'I don't know. I don't think so. I believe Moya is merely being cautious.' Pilot paused, his arms working more quickly and a frown coming to his face. 'However, the debris does appear to be interfering with our communications. I am unable to contact any of the others on the planet's surface.'  
  
  
***  
  
  
Crichton looked around warily, trying to pull himself further into the shadows of the doorway he had found to huddle in. Swirls of thick red dust were spinning past him, coating his clothes, blowing into his eyes, his hair, up his nose. He coughed hard, trying to clear the dirt out of his throat.  
  
'I can't hear you, Zhaan. Say again.' Crichton shook the tiny communicator, and held it back up to his ear. A comms breakdown was not a good sign.  
  
The comms buzzed back into life, but again the transmission was broken by bursts of static; it was definitely the Delvian speaking, but he couldn't make out any of the words.   
  
'Zhaan?'   
  
This time the comms simply buzzed at him, and he jerked it away from his ear, wincing.  
  
'Hey, Aeryn, D'Argo. Either of you get any of that?'  
  
There was a pause, and then the device beeped again, now at a safer distance from his eardrum. Still nothing but static, punctuated occasionally by what sounded like Aeryn's voice.  
  
Crichton shook his head, tucking the useless device away and stepping reluctantly out into the street. He was immediately assailed by a blast of warm air and another cloud of red dust which curled around his feet, but he put his head down and walked on, coughing and blinking grit out of his eyes as he did so.  
  
Rounding a corner, he stepped out into the marketplace, and paused behind one of the curtained stalls to catch his breath in its relative shelter, taking a moment to watch the crowds of Pariekans passing him by. A race unlike any he had previously encountered, they were bipeds, a little shorter than him, and, from what he could see through their heavy protective robes, covered from head to toe in brightly-coloured feathers. Their bird-like appearance had no connection with their brain size, however, as he had quickly found out; their technical knowledge seemed impressive, and they were certainly no fools when it came to bartering. Crichton had found them fascinating to observe, although the dust-storm they were currently enduring didn't exactly make him want to hang around and make friends. And there was the small matter of that smell...  
  
Sucking in a deep breath, Crichton poked his head out from behind the stall to scan the crowd for Aeryn and D'Argo. With the comms on the blink he was going to have to track them down in person; yelling their names over the crowd would probably save some time, given the amount of the thick red dust there was obscuring his view, but he wasn't sure about attracting that much attention.   
The creatures moving through the marketplace seemed intent on their own business, however; those few who had taken any notice of him had taken one look at the long Peacekeeper coat he wore, and the pulse pistol strapped to his thigh which peeked out from beneath it, and hurried away, fear in their eyes. The Peacekeepers had no jurisdiction in this system, but their reputation evidently preceded them. The disguise had proved useful in the bargaining for supplies, and Crichton had given it little thought; donning the uniform and the authoritative sneer had become as instinctive an action as picking up the weapon when it came to travelling down to a new planet. But perhaps there was more to the villagers' fear than he had anticipated; perhaps they knew the Peacekeepers by more than just reputation...  
  
The crowd continued to ignore him, though, and he blinked away these unwelcome thoughts; there were a million and one possible reasons for a communications breakdown. Moya's probably fine, he told himself, squinting up at the glowing, purplish sky as if he might be able to see her to prove it.  
  
'Looking for someone?' came a deep voice from behind him, making him jump. He spun around, his hand going to his thigh for the pistol, but his reflex action was met with nothing but throaty laughter.  
  
'D'Argo,' breathed Crichton, releasing his grip on the gun and catching the Luxan on the shoulder. 'Don't sneak up on people like that, you scared the bejeezus out of me.'  
  
D'Argo's playful grin departed, and he looked downcast.  
  
'Sorry, man, I guess I'm a little jumpy. For a planet with no Peacekeeper presence, they sure seem freaked out by this uniform,' Crichton said, his eyes warily running over the crowd again before he turned back to his friend. 'My comms is on the fritz, how 'bout you?'  
  
'Nothing but static. That's why I was coming to find you. Where's Aeryn?'  
  
'Right here,' came another voice from behind Crichton, making him jump and spin around again, and earning himself one of Aeryn's best 'you are very odd' looks.  
'My comms is dead, what's happening?' she said.  
  
Crichton shook his head. 'Some kind of local power drain?' he suggested, shrugging.  
  
'What if it isn't?' said D'Argo darkly.  
  
'We should get back to Moya immediately,' said Aeryn, her face grim.  
  
'Whoa, wait a minute. We didn't just come down here for the fantastic weather, people,' Crichton cut in.  
  
'And those frelling bots will not have finished loading the transport pod yet,' said D'Argo.  
  
'Then we leave with what we've got.'  
  
Crichton shook his head at her again. 'You heard Pilot, Aeryn, we need that stuff,' he said, in warning tones. 'Moya's headed for a major synaptic breakdown if we don't upgrade those relays. And if we don't get that shipment of Chakan oil, that pulse rifle you're toting might as well be from Toys 'R' Us.'  
  
'I'm still trying to talk that idiotic Pariekan down to a fair price,' Aeryn admitted, coughing as another cloud of dust swirled up around them.  
  
'Then get back onto it,' Crichton said, over the noise of the wind. 'D'Argo, you go and see if you can speed up the loading; I've got a deal to finish up with Big Bird over there. Meet up back at the pod, ASAP, right?'  
  
Aeryn and D'Argo exchanged the briefest of looks, before simultaneously deciding that asking Crichton to explain his Erp-speak would take far more time than it was worth. With a nod, the three set off in different directions.  
  
Crichton headed across the courtyard towards one of the food stalls he'd been haggling at, the Pariekan villagers falling over themselves to get out of his way. Distracted by his concern for the ship, he did not notice the small, featherless figure who stepped out from the curtained stall they had been sheltering behind, and hurried after him.  
  
  
***  
  
  
The scene that greeted Crichton was not reassuring. The transport pod was resting with its doors wide open, and piled all around it were hundreds of tiny containers, stacked on top of one another. Three squarish, cumbersome and rusting bots were struggling to pick up the containers and load them onto the pod, but the rough terrain around the doors was causing them some problems; as Crichton watched, one of them hit a small pile of rocks and tipped sideways, its load tumbling to the floor, and by the number of containers that were scattered around the loading area he guessed that this wasn't the first time. Overseeing this disaster area was a short, grubby, yellow-feathered Pariekan, who was shouting various terms of abuse and excuse at the rusty bots. Next to him stood D'Argo, and whatever it was he was shouting, Crichton's translator microbes didn't dare to put into English.  
  
'D'Argo,' Crichton yelled over the noise.  
  
The Luxan looked up, seeming relieved at the Human's arrival.  
  
'Finally,' D'Argo shouted, striding towards him. 'Perhaps you can talk some sense into this ridiculous creature. Those bots are older than my grandatcher, this will take forever.'  
  
Crichton smiled, staring at the Pariekan as he walked towards him. The feathered creature stared right back, a nervous smile playing over his dusty yellow face, his eyes straying toward Crichton's weapon.  
  
'What is the meaning of this?' Crichton said, in his most withering Peacekeeper voice.  
  
The Pariekan took a step backwards, then began to stutter and stumble out an explanation. 'I'm very much afraid, sir, that I have been having some technical difficulties...' he muttered, the dirty yellow feathers along the top of his head starting to stand up.  
  
'I'm not interested in your technical difficulties,' Crichton cut in, stepping up to the Pariekan and leaning towards him, emphasising the height difference. 'We paid you to perform a certain task, and we expect you to fulfil that agreement. My pod is to be loaded with all of those containers in half an arn. Do you understand?'  
  
The creature smoothed his hand over the raised feathers on his head, attempting to regain his composure. 'I'm sorry, sir, but I'm afraid...'  
  
Crichton had turned away, but as the Pariekan began to speak he swung back to face him, leaning his face towards the smaller creature's so that their noses were almost touching.  
  
'Hmm?' Crichton said, lifting one eyebrow.  
  
'I'll...I'll arrange for some extra bots, sir,' the Pariekan stuttered, the feathers rising again. 'They'll be here in a microt...your ship will be ready in a quarter arn, I can promise you that.'  
  
With that, the creature turned and fled to his transport, seizing some form of communications device within and screeching loudly into it as he drove away down the bumpy track.  
  
Crichton turned around, and gave D'Argo a triumphant grin.  
  
'Where'd you find him?' he asked, smiling at the Luxan's shame-faced look.  
  
'What the frell is going on here?' came a voice from some distance away, and both figures whirled to see Aeryn Sun stride over the dusty horizon, pulse rifle in one hand, a barrel in the other, and a scornful look on her face. 'I thought you were fixing this problem?'  
  
'We're on it, Aeryn,' Crichton said, casting a weary smile at D'Argo. 'We'll be out of here as fast as we can, but you're just gonna have to practice some of your famous Peacekeeper patience for a few microts, OK?'  
  
She gave him a withering glare as she dumped the barrel with the rest of the containers, looked scathingly at the feeble bots, and then glared at him again.  
He grinned, and lifted up the container he'd carried back from the market.  
'Food cube?' he offered, still grinning. 'I got the yummy blue ones,' he added, the grin turning mischievous.  
  
Aeryn was about to respond with a retort which even Rygel would have found offensive, but something behind Crichton distracted her before she could speak. A small figure was walking over the hill towards them. The clouds of red dirt which the wind kept picking up and throwing around obscured her view, and she blinked to try to clear her vision; no, she had been right. The figure was definitely not a Pariekan. She stiffened, glancing at D'Argo and seeing that he too had seen the approaching stranger.  
  
Crichton registered the change in mood, and opened his mouth to ask what was going on. Before he could speak, however, another, unfamiliar voice broke in.  
'Crichton? Commander John Crichton?'  
  
He turned around slowly, dropping the container and drawing his weapon, a sick feeling brewing in the pit of his stomach. Total strangers on commerce planets who knew too much about him...the track record on that one wasn't too hot.  
A Sebacean. Not Peacekeeper; not in uniform, anyway. Unarmed, unless there were concealed weapons under her dirty, dusty clothes. Hands half up in a gesture of defensiveness; eyes wide with fear and confusion. No threat. He kept the gun trained on her anyway, his eyes scanning the horizon for commandos. Nothing moved but the swirls of dust.  
  
'Who wants to know?' he said, firming up his grip on the pulse pistol. Aeryn and D'Argo were flanking him, both with their weapons drawn.  
  
The figure opened her mouth and then closed it again, nervous eyes flitting from Crichton's gun to those of his friends, palms still raised. Swallowing, she locked eyes with Crichton, fixing him with a look that seemed half terror, half triumph.  
  
'The pilot of the Farscape Two,' she said, a tremor in her voice. She reached her right hand slowly towards her jacket, gripping the filthy, dust-coated fabric, and pulling it forward for Crichton to see.  
  
He narrowed his eyes, and saw. Torn, stained with the red dust, but undeniable. The symbol on the girl's jacket was the IASA logo. She was from Earth.  
  
  
[POOM! Roll the opening credits...'My name is John Crichton...I'm just looking for a way home'...Laaa-la-la-la-la-la-la-laaaaaa-laaaaaaah...HAH!]  
  
  
Aeryn's rifle remained trained on the stranger, but she couldn't help but glance over at Crichton. He had kept his gun arm up, his hand trembling only slightly; had swallowed, and had focused; brought his breathing under control. She made a mental note to commend him for it later, knowing it was her training that was responsible for the façade of composure. His eyes, though, as always, gave everything away. She felt something in her heart skip as she looked into the chasm that had opened up beneath the blue; the aching, desperate hope, and the crushing knowledge that daring to hope was something that none of them could afford, least of all him.  
  
She looked back at the stranger, running her eyes up and down the young woman, searching for some clue, some giveaway detail. The clothes seemed right enough; once you ignored the coating of red dust, and the grime underneath, they were recognisably like the ones Crichton had been wearing when he had first come through. White T-shirt, khakis, boots, khaki jacket with symbols sewn onto it. The remainder of the girl's appearance wouldn't tell them anything, Sebacean and Human physiology being so similar, but Aeryn took it in anyway, noting the similarity in hair colour and skin tone to her own. Even her voice sounded a little like hers. There the resemblance faded, however, and Aeryn almost had to bite back a smile as she realised how much the young woman reminded her of John; something in the way the stranger carried herself, the expression on her face as it moved from alarm to bewilderment to simple amusement at the impossibility of the situation.  
  
Crichton cleared his throat, tugging her back to the moment.  
  
'What did you say?' he said hoarsely, unable to keep the emotion of the situation out of his voice.  
  
The girl shifted her feet slightly, her tangled, jaw-length curls blowing into her eyes as the wind picked up. 'My name is Emma Fisher,' she said cautiously, sounding slightly breathless. 'I work for the IASA...for the Farscape project. Your project.'  
  
Her eyes travelled over the weapons which were trained on her.  
  
'Keep talking,' Crichton said, his voice still sounding strained.  
  
She paused, again looking at the guns.  
  
'You want to put that thing down first?' she said, nodding at his weapon.  
  
'No,' said Aeryn loudly, in a commanding tone she rarely used these days. 'And he told you to keep talking.'  
  
Crichton's eyes slid over to Aeryn for a second, before flicking back to the stranger. 'You heard what the nice lady said,' he added.  
  
Fisher blinked, frowning slightly.  
  
'You know, Crichton,' she said slowly, 'you may have been at this end of the universe longer than me, but first rule of the Lost Earthling Handbook says Peacekeepers are the bad guys.'  
  
Crichton managed a brief smile. 'Yeah, I think I picked that one up,' he said, quietly.  
  
'So how come you're hanging out with one?' Fisher said, eyes on Aeryn, before running them over Crichton, a faintly incredulous smile playing over her lips. 'And raiding their wardrobes?'  
  
Crichton tilted his head, narrowing his eyes at her.  
  
'Long story,' he said shortly. 'You go first.'  
  
The stranger shrugged, trying to appear calm. 'OK, edited highlights version: what happened to you happened to me. Was trying to slingshot when I got slurped up by a wormhole and spat out here...wherever the hell 'here' is. I've been trying to find you since I came through. Can't believe I finally have. Small universe after all, huh?' She managed a small, tense laugh.  
  
There was silence for a moment as Fisher waited, gazing intently at Crichton again. He stared back, into her eyes, as if he was trying to see into her, see what the truth was, but she only stared back, questioning him, leaving the responsibility on his shoulders. He realised that both Aeryn and D'Argo were looking at him too, waiting for his response, and shifted his weight from one foot to the other, feeling uncomfortable. Part of him wanted to punch the air and start screaming with delight, before settling down to the first conversation in god only knew how long where there wouldn't be a single reference he would have to explain. Part of him wanted to throw up at the prospect of having his head turned inside-out again by whoever it was that had come up with this sick joke. This was impossible, an impossible choice. His arm dropped, the gun hanging loosely in his hand. He looked at the floor, swallowing hard.  
  
'This is a trap, John,' came a deep, sombre voice from his right.  
  
He turned and saw D'Argo slowly shaking his head, the Luxan's face creased with sadness. 'I know how much you want to believe her, but...'  
  
'D'Argo's right,' came Aeryn's voice in his other ear, equally charged with emotion. 'This is the most obvious way to get to you, John. They know how much this would mean to you.'  
  
He blinked, biting his lip, and looking up again at Fisher. She stared back, uncertain, her confused look telling him nothing. They're looking after you, John, he said to himself; everything they just said makes total sense. But if they're wrong...if she's for real, and she's on her own out here...  
  
'Crichton, how the hell could I possibly be lying?' Fisher's voice had started to sound desperate. 'How could I know about Farscape, about Earth, if I wasn't telling the truth?'  
  
Crichton managed a shaky laugh, closing his eyes. Maldis, those freaky Delvians, the Ancients, Scorpius...hell, pretty much every species this side of the wormhole had opened up his head and had a good feel around in there. He was starting to feel relieved every time he met a total stranger who didn't instantly know his inside leg measurement.  
  
'If you're for real, I hope you never find out the answer to that,' he muttered under his breath.  
  
The tension between the four figures was broken by the sound of a poorly-maintained engine spluttering up the track behind them, announcing the return of the yellow-feathered Pariekan. His battered transport now dragged a trailer behind it, with two more bots inside which looked to be even more rusted and worn than the ones that were still struggling to load the pod.  
  
The stumpy Pariekan hurried out of his seat and rushed to unload the two, bowing and nodding anxiously at the small group. He blinked repeatedly when he saw the new addition to the group, but quickly resumed his bowing, his beady eyes lingering on the drawn weapons.  
  
'Will be finished in no time, sir, and then you can be on your way, sir,' he said, breathlessly, shooing the two new bots towards the slowly diminishing pile of supplies. One of them made a strange clanking noise and then stopped moving, smoke billowing from a rusted hole in its side. The Pariekan squawked something incomprehensible and began kicking the bot, showering more red dust around and occasionally glancing over his shoulder at his employers with what was presumably meant to be a reassuring look.  
  
D'Argo let a long, low growl emerge before slinging his Qualta blade back over his shoulder. 'We need to get out of here. I will deal with this,' he said, giving Aeryn a meaningful look before striding over to the pile of containers and hefting one onto his broad back, spitting some untranslatable insult at the feathered creature and its still-smoking machine. The Pariekan seemed to decide that his health might be at risk if he stayed too close to the Luxan, and, with many bows and obsequious smiles, he fled to his transport and sped back to the outpost in a cloud of dust.  
  
'John, if this is a trap then someone knows we're here,' Aeryn began, her gun still trained on Fisher, who was watching the activities at the rear of the pod with something close to amusement regardless of the threat. 'Every microt we stand here having this conversation could be killing us. We need to go, now.'  
Crichton's eyes flicked to Aeryn; flicked back to Fisher. He tensed his grip on the weapon at his side, flexing the fingers of his other gloved hand.  
  
'Commander Crichton, I'm telling you the truth,' Fisher said, her panicky tone indicating clearly that she knew this was probably her last chance. 'I have absolutely no idea why you don't believe me, how...who...would be trying to lie to you about this, who would be trying to kill you. But you have to give me a chance, a chance to prove it to you.'  
  
'How?' snapped Crichton, urgently, glancing over his shoulder and seeing that the loading job was almost complete, that a decision would have to be made.  
'I don't know,' Fisher answered, shrugging and shaking her head. 'I don't know what would make you believe me.'  
  
'Nothing,' said Aeryn shortly. 'This discussion is over, Crichton.'  
  
Fisher was still staring at him helplessly, pleading, as his mind raced.  
  
'Zhaan,' he breathed. 'She could prove it. That test she ran on me when I first got pulled on board, she could do it on her.'   
  
He turned to Aeryn, but the former Peacekeeper was shaking her head, her mouth set in a firm line.  
  
'No way, Crichton. We are not taking a Peacekeeper spy willingly on board Moya. It's suicide.'  
  
'Don't you want to know what happened after you left, Crichton? Don't you want to know how your father is?' Fisher's face was as firmly set as Aeryn's.  
Crichton's lips parted slightly as he gasped in a breath of air; then he clamped his mouth shut, closing his eyes briefly.  
  
'That's blackmail, Crichton, she's offering you exactly what you want to hear,' Aeryn protested, but a quick look at his face made her realise how futile those words were.  
  
'She's coming with us,' Crichton said, huskily.  
  
'John, you don't have the right...' she began, but he put up a hand and turned his head to face her, his eyes burning.  
  
'If there's a Command Carrier up there waiting for us, we're screwed anyway...and I need to do this, Aeryn.'  
  
She glared back at him, the anger and frustration she was feeling barely tempered by her understanding of his predicament.  
  
'Move!' she growled at Fisher, deciding to take it out on the stranger as she gestured towards the pod with her rifle. Fisher, whose relief seemed to be wavering slightly under Aeryn's gaze, nodded and stepped forward, Aeryn and Crichton both falling into step behind her and the butt of Aeryn's rifle helpfully nudging her onwards.  
  
D'Argo slung one of the few remaining containers into the pod's small cargo hold and turned, stretching his broad back with a frown. He had heard the exchange between his two friends and this strange woman, and he had not liked the outcome, but there was clearly no time for debate, and from the bleakly determined expression on Crichton's face, it would be fruitless anyway. The Luxan could easily overpower him, of course, but he knew how much the Human dreaded recapture by the Peacekeepers; he would only take a risk such as this if it were of great importance. D'Argo would not be the one to take away his chance at a reunion with one of his own kind.   
  
The smoking, useless bots had between them loaded less cargo than D'Argo had in half the time, he noted with irritation as the others approached; if he'd come to do this sooner they might have left the planet before they had ever run into this troubling stranger. D'Argo hefted another large box into the hold.  
'You may power up the engines now, Aeryn,' he said gruffly, deciding to keep his questions for a better time, when they knew Moya was safe. 'We're almost fi...'  
But the sentence was never finished. D'Argo's world erupted as a massive explosion ripped through the pod, flinging him to the ground in a rain of metal, stones and red dirt.  
  
  
***  
  
  
'I'm getting tired of this,' murmured Chiana breathlessly, cocking her head to one side as the floor of the Command once again seemed to disappear from beneath her and she found herself sprawled over the controls.  
  
Rygel's wailing could be heard some distance from the Command itself, but he wasn't getting any sympathy from the DRDs; he needed an audience to whine at.  
'Pilot, tell Moya that if this incessant bouncing doesn't stop, I will personally hand her over to the Peacekeepers to get another control collar fixed,' the Hynerian announced as he skidded into the Command, his thronesled unable to compensate for the bucking of the Leviathan. 'At least then she could fly straight,' he added, muttering under his breath.  
  
Pilot's baleful eyes grew slightly fierce.  
  
'Dominar Rygel, may I remind you...' he began, before Zhaan cut him off.  
  
'Ignore him, Pilot. Have you had any further success in locating the others?'  
Pilot's arms began to move, and his eyes scurried over the displays before him; when he looked up, however, he was shaking his domed head.  
  
'The storm is still blocking out all communications from the planet. I cannot even tell if they are trying to contact us.'  
  
'Is there any way to boost Moya's signal? They should have returned two arns ago.'  
  
Pilot sighed to himself; he was, as often happened, being asked a question to which they all knew the answer. Seeing the deep concern on the Delvian's face, though, he responded in his usual calm, patient tones.  
  
'Moya has no means to do so, Zhaan.'  
  
The ship lurched once again, as the twisting clouds of sparkling dust on the planet's surface continued to spin and darken.  
  
'This is as bad as when she was giving birth!' protested Rygel, who was gripping tightly to the thronesled with his toes, having very nearly taken a most un-regal dive to the floor.  
  
'She couldn't actually be doing that again, could she?' gasped Chiana, her eyes widening as once again her stomach and the control desk made abrupt contact.  
'I can assure you that Moya is not in labour, Chiana,' said Pilot, his image flickering slightly in the viewer as the Leviathan jolted again.  
  
'How much longer can Moya sustain this unstable orbit?' Zhaan pleaded.   
  
Pilot's arm movements suddenly became more rapid, and he turned his head to face them fully through the viewer, his stalked eyes anxious.  
  
'Not much longer, it appears,' he said, the calm tones replaced by nervous ones. 'Moya is preparing for immediate Starburst.'  
  
The drifting red dust which was slowly swirling away from the planet suddenly sparked with brilliant blue light, as the Leviathan's hull became slowly criss-crossed with tracers of blue which built in intensity and then flashed, as the ship disappeared.  
  
  
***  
  
White, blinding light. Then red. Red, swirling, glittering dust, and behind it, purple, glowing light. Everything flashing, blurring, moving far too quickly. Rushing sounds, and heat. That taste in his mouth; metallic, acrid somehow. And the feeling of being crushed. Of not being able to breathe. At all.  
  
Crichton's reflexes kicked in, and his eyes snapped open, his legs thrashing and his arms striking out, pushing upwards at whatever was crushing him. Blinking the blinding brightness away, he looked down, and realised it was a seven foot-tall Luxan warrior.  
  
'D'Argo,' he murmured, panicked by the dead weight sprawled on top of him. Where do you take the pulse of someone who keeps their hearts in their knees? he wondered vaguely. He gripped his unconscious friend by the shoulders and tried to push him off, but he couldn't get any leverage, and the back of his head was pounding. Not being able to draw breath properly wasn't really helping either.  
He tilted his head to the right, coughing in the clouds of red dirt that were still eddying around, and the black smoke which still lingered in the air. Two women were sprawled on the ground beside him. The one in the IASA uniform was lying face down, her back to him; the other was a little further off, on her back. Trapped as he was, he could reach neither of them.  
  
'Aeryn,' he croaked, the pressure on his chest fast approaching unbearable; every time he tried to draw in a deep breath it felt like his ribs were about to snap.   
  
'Aeryn,' he said again, a little louder this time. Oh god, Aeryn, please be OK...  
  
And then she moved; first a flicker of the eyelids, then a low moan, and then her eyes slowly opened.  
  
'Aeryn, are you OK?' Crichton stuttered out, lifting his head to see her better and regretting it instantly, as a wave of nausea knocked it back to the floor.   
She groaned again, and then rolled towards him, her training kicking in the instant her body recognized that they had been attacked. She crouched, awkwardly, scanning the horizon for enemy troops as her hands scrabbled in the dirt for her weapon. Seeing no movement on the ridge, she turned to glance over the charred remains of the loading bots and the wreckage of the pod; the shell of the front half remained intact, but the rear cargo area had been ripped apart. It was a depressing sight, and she turned her attention back to her companions.  
  
'How is he?' she muttered breathlessly, nodding at D'Argo and flinching as she inched towards them.  
  
Crichton tried to shrug, then realised it wasn't really possible when lying underneath a large lump of Luxan.   
  
'Heavy,' he gasped, again pushing up against the warrior's shoulders.  
Fortunately, Aeryn Sun arrived at that moment, pushed herself up into a kneeling position, and between them they rolled D'Argo in one swift movement off Crichton and onto his side.  
  
Crichton drew in the longest, most pleasant breath of dusty, smoke-filled air he had ever encountered, and waited for a second for things to come back into focus.  
  
'Are you all right?' Aeryn asked, hair dangling in dirty strings around her face, eyes misted with pain and confusion, and an angry red bruise blooming on her cheek where some piece of flying debris must have connected.  
He coughed, winced at the ache in his chest, and then propped himself up on one elbow and rubbed the dust out of his eyes with his other hand.  
  
'Flat Stanley,' he murmured, and then caught Aeryn's look. 'Just a little squished, that's all. You?'  
  
She shook her head at the question, as if it were beneath concern, and reached over him to pull the unconscious Luxan back onto his front to easier see his wounds.  
  
Seeing her face darken, Crichton struggled into a sitting position, and sharply drew in a breath. D'Argo's tunic was tattered and scorched, and his flesh was pierced by the countless tiny slivers of metal that the bots had turned into. These were nothing, however, to the twisted spear of gold metal that stuck out at an odd angle from his left shoulder; from its colour, it was clearly a piece of the transport pod's hull, and it looked to be deeply embedded. A small trickle of blood ran from the wound; it was deep, dark red.   
  
Aeryn's hand moved towards the shard of metal, but Crichton's shot forward and he caught her wrist, gripping it tightly.  
  
'No, don't pull it out,' he said urgently, 'it'll make the bleeding worse.'  
'How am I supposed to get the blood to flow clear with that still sticking out of him?' Aeryn answered crossly, shaking her hand free from his grasp.  
Crichton paused, staring at the wound, thinking rapidly.  
  
'Well?' Her hand was poised over the shard.  
  
'I don't know,' snapped Crichton, his hand reaching for the comms he'd tucked away earlier as a last resort.  
  
'Zhaan,' he yelled into it, ignoring Aeryn's caustic look. 'Zhaan, we need you down here.'  
  
The comms showed no signs of life.  
  
'Crichton, tell me what to do,' Aeryn said quietly.  
  
He opened his mouth to snap at her again, then realised from the look on her face that she was as petrified as he was of making the wrong choice. He pressed his lips together, looking down at D'Argo's motionless form.  
  
'Pull it out,' he said.  
  
Aeryn gripped the shard and pulled, hard; there was a sickening wet sound as the metal slid out of D'Argo's flesh, and then it was free. She cast it quickly aside and kneeled over him, paling slightly at the amount of thick dark blood which had begun to pour from the wound. Then she raised her fist and brought it down, hard, again and again, stimulating the flow.  
  
A groaning sound distracted them both, and they turned as one, both remembering that D'Argo was not the only other problem on their hands. Emma Fisher had come round, and was attempting to raise herself up onto all fours. She managed to kneel, but then her head fell forward onto her hands and she rested there a moment, coughing.  
  
'Carry on,' Aeryn said, and in one fluid movement got up, crossed to the kneeled figure, flipped her onto her back, and straddled her, knocking the flailing arms out of the way and leaning her face close to the one trapped beneath her.  
'Where is the rest of your unit?' she shouted menacingly.  
  
Fisher coughed again, and blinked, as if unsure of where she was, while Crichton shifted positions, grimaced, and started thumping D'Argo as hard as he could manage, his eyes on the two women.  
  
'Why haven't they taken us? What are they waiting for?' Aeryn reached into her boot and produced a small knife, waving it before her captive's face to make sure she had seen it before she placed it an inch from her neck.  
  
Fisher blinked again, looking completely bewildered.  
  
'What...what happened?' she stuttered, turning her head gingerly towards Crichton.  
  
'Easy, Aeryn,' Crichton said in a tired voice, pausing to rest and scan the dusty horizon.  
  
'Crichton, in case you hadn't noticed, we are in serious dren right now. And I want answers!' She glared down at Fisher, moving the edge of the blade closer to her prisoner's throat.  
  
'Well, like you just said, Aeryn, whoever just blew us up doesn't seem too interested right now. So how about we concentrate on getting the big guy fixed up first, huh?'  
  
Aeryn glanced past him at D'Argo's outstretched, unmoving form, and saw the dark colour of the blood staining his back. She slipped the knife back into her boot with a chastened look, stepping off Fisher and striding towards the Luxan, avoiding Crichton's eyes.  
  
'We should get him into the pod...well, what's left of it. Give him some shelter from this wind.' She reached down and began to drag D'Argo towards the jagged hole where the entrance to the fore-section of the pod now was. Crichton got to his feet and grabbed the Luxan's feet to help her, shaking his head at Aeryn's instinctive return to efficient, Peacekeeper mode whenever she felt guilty.  
  
'That's assuming the rest of it's not about to blow up,' she added, breathlessly, grunting as the two struggled to move D'Argo without causing him any further injury.  
  
'Well, you know what they say,' Crichton said, his eyes straying to the small, dusty figure who was struggling to her feet and examining the scrapes and cuts on her hands and arms. 'Lightning never strikes twice.'  
  
  
***  
  
  
Pilot fought the urge to shut down the Command's communications to block out the sound of the crew screaming at him, and instead merely waited for them to stop for long enough to allow him to answer.  
  
'Shut it, frog-breath,' Chiana yelled, elbowing the Hynerian and sending his thronesled spinning away into the nearest wall. 'Pilot's trying to say something.'  
  
'Pilot, please, go ahead,' said Zhaan, raising her hands in calm at her two companions with a withering look, as if she had contributed nothing to the cacophony that had echoed through the Command a moment ago.  
  
Pilot gave her a heavy-lidded stare, then turned back to the controls, continuing to monitor the ship's systems as he spoke.  
  
'Thank you,' he said, with only the mildest trace of sarcasm. 'As I was saying, Moya's Starburst was not intentional, but a reaction to the dust-storm on the planet. It appears that some of the particles the planet was releasing were taken on board through the ventilation shafts, and Moya needed to expel them rapidly.'  
  
'Couldn't she just flush like any normal creature?' grumbled Rygel, hovering a safe distance from Chiana's sharp elbows.  
  
'The particles appeared to contain traces of Borium,' Pilot added, 'a substance which severely irritates Moya's more sensitive membranes.'  
  
'Well, at least we all know what Rygel's made of now,' said Chiana with a wicked chuckle.  
  
'So Moya's Starburst was...a sneeze?' said Zhaan.  
  
Pilot looked at her quizzically for a moment, before nodding. 'That is a fair equivalent, yes.'  
  
'Is there any more of this Borium still left on board?'  
  
'I'm picking up minute traces in various parts of the ship - the DRDs are taking care of it as we speak.'  
  
'How long till Moya can Starburst again, Pilot?' Chiana asked. 'The others are going to go farbot if we're not there to pick them up.'  
  
'That may be a problem,' Pilot said, his movements slowing as he looked up at them through the viewer. 'Moya refuses to return to the planet.'  
  
  
***  
  
'There's no-one out there, Aeryn,' said Crichton, stepping gingerly back over the fragments of the pod and the containers they'd been loading. 'Don't blame them for not hanging around, either. Looks like this storm is getting worse.'   
He paused, watching the wind pick up some of the debris and fling it through the air. The sky was pulsing, the purple deepening, the red dust mixed with swirls of silver. Beautiful, he thought, just like a thunderstorm at home; beautiful, and terrible, and best watched from a nice cosy seat inside a nice cosy house, not the useless wreckage of a transport pod.  
  
The wind swept another faceful of the thick dust his way, and he retreated back into the relative shelter of the half-pod, brushing some of the particles out of his hair. Fisher was seated just inside the 'entrance', hands clasped forlornly in her lap, wrists encircled by a pair of Peacekeeper handcuffs; she looked up at him bitterly as he walked past, but he ignored her. First things first, John, he told himself sternly, disregarding the little ripple of guilt he felt crawl up his spine at the expression on her face.  
  
'How's he doing?' he called softly to Aeryn as he clambered awkwardly over the remains of the pod's flight controls, which were now scattered in various sharp pieces all over the floor. D'Argo was stretched out across one of the low shelves that ran along the inside wall of the pod; his eyes were still unmoving, although the blood that still seeped from his back was now clear. Aeryn squatted next to him, a hypodermic in her hand.  
  
'That last shot doesn't seem to have had any effect,' she said, standing up and looking him in the eye. 'I have no idea what I'm doing here, John.'  
'Luxan physiology's not exactly my specialist subject either, Aeryn,' he said gently, bending down to touch D'Argo's face. He pulled up one eyelid; one still, wide pupil stared back.  
  
'Well, at least he doesn't seem to be getting any worse,' he murmured, straightening, and totally failing to find his own words reassuring. One look at Aeryn's face told him she felt the same.  
  
'We could try contacting Moya again,' she suggested, knowing it would be a waste of time.  
  
'Assuming they're still there.'  
  
'They won't have left without us, John.'  
  
'They might not have had a choice.'  
  
Aeryn paused, her mind running pointlessly through the possibilities.  
  
'Well, whatever problems they're having up there, we still need to get off this rock,' she said, looking dispiritedly round at what remained of the pod's controls and systems. It was obvious even to her that nothing was salvageable.  
There was an uneasy silence, broken unexpectedly by a third voice.  
  
'How is your friend?' Fisher's voice was raised to carry over the sound of the wind outside.  
  
Aeryn scowled at her. 'I think you'll have to do better than that now, don't you?'  
  
Fisher sighed heavily, stared at the floor for a moment as if wondering whether to bother continuing, then brought her head back up, fixing her eyes on the two of them.  
  
'I'm sorry your friend got hurt, but I'm not responsible for it,' she said in a controlled voice, only her clenched hands betraying the repressed anger. 'That blast could've killed any one of us, you know. Including me. What do you think I am, some kind of crazy kamikaze pilot?'  
  
Aeryn blinked, her scornful look giving way to narrowed eyes and the slightest flicker of confusion. Almost imperceptibly, she turned her head towards Crichton.  
  
He slid his eyes over to her, and then realised the problem. Erp-talk. Someone else's Erp-talk. Wow, this was weird.  
  
'Suicide bomber,' he said, softly. 'Hand grenade with legs.'  
  
Aeryn nodded briefly; Fisher looked at Crichton with a little trace of a smile. He pursed his lips; looked at the weather; wished for the millionth time that he was somewhere else.  
  
'You say that as if it were a ridiculous idea,' Aeryn said, a cold smile on her face. 'Tactical sacrifices are a perfectly logical battle strategy.'  
'Logical?' Fisher said with a hollow laugh. 'Tell that to the ones being sacrificed, Peacekeeper.'   
  
'A Peacekeeper would consider it a honour - as I'm sure you know perfectly well. Dying in battle is what we're trained to do.'  
  
Fisher snorted, tilting her head, screwing up her face incredulously and looking up at Aeryn with her mouth open, reminding Aeryn irresistibly of Crichton at his most irritating.  
  
'What, that's supposed to impress me?' Fisher said, shaking her head with another laugh. 'You still sure you're on the right team, Crichton?' she called to him.  
  
He had half turned away from the conversation, pretending to be concentrating on D'Argo while his mind worked furiously, running through scenario after scenario; now he turned his head to the dark-haired stranger. Looking at her sitting there, he felt the ripple of guilt creep up the back of his neck again; she looked so embittered, so betrayed.   
  
'Crichton,' Aeryn said sharply, startling him back to the moment; she gave him a warning look, reading the indecision in his eyes.  
  
'C'mere,' he said, reaching forward to catch Aeryn by the arm and leading her to the other side of the pod, as far from Fisher as he could get.   
  
'What are you doing?' Aeryn began to say, but Crichton shushed her and positioned her so she faced him, fixing her eyes with his.  
  
'We have to talk, Aeryn. Something she just said...got me thinking...'  
  
'Is this about that suicide bomber dren?' Aeryn said, rolling her eyes impatiently. 'Crichton, just because she talks the same kind of rubbish you do doesn't mean anything. There are all kinds of ways she could know your language, that's all part of her plan...'  
  
Crichton waved his hands at her, shaking his head.  
  
'I know, I know, half of the uncharted territories has seen inside my head, Aeryn, I am the definition of an open book...' His voice trailed off as he realised he was babbling; he stopped and steadied himself, swallowing hard as he looked back up into her worried eyes.  
  
'I wasn't talking about the language she was using, I was talking about what she said. About the explosion.'  
  
'You said you thought it was lightning,' she said, witheringly.  
  
Crichton looked at her blankly, and then remembered.  
  
'No, no, that was just a...'  
  
'A Human saying?'  
  
'Yes,' he said, exasperated. 'Look, will you just let me finish this?'  
  
Aeryn looked at him expectantly, eyebrows raised.  
  
'OK, let's say, for the sake of argument, that's she's lying, that she's not who she says she is.'  
  
'I think we can call that more than an assumption, Crichton,' Aeryn said, casting Fisher a scathing look. 'She even sounds like a Peacekeeper.'  
  
'Not everyone on Earth sounds like me, Aeryn, you know that.'  
  
'I suppose Earth had to have some redeeming features.'  
  
Crichton drooped his head, rolling his eyes.  
  
'Whatever, Aeryn, OK? So she's an impostor, right, and this 'I'm from Earth' thing is just meant to, I don't know, distract me, throw me off balance, get me to do something that I wouldn't do otherwise, right?'  
  
She nodded.  
  
'Now who do we know that would want to do a thing like that, Aeryn? Who would go to all that trouble to create a fake Human just to screw me over?'  
  
'Scorpius,' Aeryn said.  
  
'Right, Scorpius,' Crichton repeated.  
  
'I still don't know where you're going with this, John,' she said, shaking her head.  
  
'Oh come on, Aeryn, think about it. Only Scorpy wants me bad enough to try a stunt like this. And he saw enough of the John Crichton home movie in that stinking chair of his to put it together.'  
  
He faltered, his eyes unfocusing for a moment as his stomach turned over at the memory. Swallowing hard, he brought his eyes back to Aeryn's; she was gazing at him, her confusion mingled with concern.  
  
'John, I know all this...' she began, reaching out to grasp his arm reassuringly, but he shook his head impatiently.  
  
'Come on, think about it. Scorpy doesn't want me, he wants what I know about wormholes.' He tapped the side of his head with his finger. 'What I got locked up here ought to make me the safest guy in the uncharted territories. He needs me alive.'  
  
He stopped and raised his eyebrows at her questioningly, watching comprehension spread over Aeryn's face.  
  
'The explosion...' she said.  
  
'Could have killed any one of us,' he finished for her. 'Which means...maybe she ain't working for Scorpy.' He waited breathlessly for her response as she looked past him at the swirling skies outside the pod, thinking quickly.  
  
'Or, alternatively,' she said, heavily, 'the explosion wasn't meant for us.'  
  
She looked at Crichton long enough for the words to sink in, and then her eyes strayed past him again, settling on the small, dark, lost-looking figure seated at the other end of the pod, staring anxiously out at the storm. Crichton followed her gaze, and closed his eyes in bewildered frustration.  
  
  
***  
  
The DRD rolled speedily along the corridor, beeping happily to itself as it returned to Pilot's chamber for reassignment, its last task completed. It sped up as it rounded the final corner, and then headed out across the dimly lit walkway, dodging the Delvian priest who was standing a few feet from Pilot, wringing her hands.  
  
'Pilot, I do understand Moya's anxiety. But we will not need to remain in the planet's orbit for long, and the Borium does not seem to have had any lasting ill-effects.'   
  
Pilot cocked his head to one side for a moment as if listening, then rolled his eyes back to Zhaan's.  
  
'Moya refuses,' he said, his tone only mildly apologetic. 'She would have to return to the planet's orbit using Starburst, and fears she would be unable to do so again quickly enough to avoid being...affected again.'  
  
'Ah, come on, Pilot,' came Chiana's voice, slightly distorted, over the Command comms system. 'It was only a sneeze.'  
  
'An unexpected Starburst is an unpleasant experience for a Leviathan,' replied Pilot.  
  
'Not just for the Leviathan,' grumbled Rygel, his voice echoing through the chamber as Chiana's had.  
  
'Pilot, please remind Moya that the others may be in danger,' said Zhaan, leaning forward against the control panel which surrounded Pilot. 'They may have been delayed by some problem on the planet, which requires our assistance. And if not, they will be drifting in space wondering why we have abandoned them.'  
  
Pilot's arms stopped moving for a moment, and he stared at her, his great face creasing with concern. Moya had been forced to abandon Crichton, Aeryn, and D'Argo once before; it had been a painful experience for all of them. He blinked at her, and then his arms began to run over the ship's controls again at their usual rapid pace.  
  
'Moya tells me she is willing to return to an alternative position,' he said, 'close enough to scan the area. Whether the transport pod has left the surface or not, however, she will not be able to maintain that orbit for long.'  
'Very well, Pilot,' said Zhaan with relief, straightening up. 'If they are not there waiting for us, Moya must retreat. We will simply have to take another pod down to the surface to look for them.'  
  
Pilot nodded.  
  
'Hey, froggy,' said Chiana in the Command, turning to Rygel. 'Did Zhaan just say what I thought Zhaan just said?'  
  
'Prepare for Starburst, people,' Pilot announced, and the blue lights began again to fizz and crackle over Moya's hull before intensifying, and blazing even brighter as she sped back to the dust planet.   
  
  
***  
  
  
A low, soft rumble behind Aeryn startled both her and Crichton away from their contemplation of Fisher. D'Argo was coming round.  
  
They both rushed to his side, Aeryn laying a hand on his back to check that the bleeding had not restarted or darkened, Crichton crouching beside his head with a broad grin on his face.  
  
'Hey, big guy,' he said. 'You trying to scare us or something?'  
  
D'Argo's eyes flickered open briefly, and then closed again in pain, as he mumbled something. Crichton leaned his head in closer to the Luxan's mouth, straining to hear as his lips moved again.  
  
'Blood...what...you must...'  
  
Crichton shook his head, smiling.  
  
'It's OK, D'Argo, the blood's running clear. You're going to be OK, you hear me?'  
  
D'Argo's eyes half opened again, viewing Crichton almost suspiciously, rolling up to take in Aeryn's face too. She gave him a relieved smile; Crichton nodded at him encouragingly, and his face seemed to relax slightly.  
  
'Frelling bots,' he murmured.  
  
Crichton's grin widened, but D'Argo's eyes slid closed again, his head settling into the flight suit they'd used as a pillow. Concerned, Crichton called D'Argo's name softly, but Aeryn leaned down to touch his arm, shaking her head.  
'He needs to rest, John,' she said gently. 'And we have other problems to deal with.'  
  
Casting a last anxious look at his unconscious friend, Crichton stood, breathed deeply, and then clapped his hands together in a mock gesture of anticipation.  
  
'Then let's go deal,' he said, throwing Aeryn a slightly wild-eyed grin as he spun around and strode to the other end of the wreckage, coughing slightly as the wind swept some more dust into the pod. Aeryn followed, looking worriedly at his back; his behaviour had always been strange, but lately he had seemed increasingly erratic. She had no idea how he intended to handle this, and she wasn't entirely sure he did either.  
  
Fisher was looking up at them both as they approached, her face sulky and apprehensive. Crichton ignored it as he grabbed the edge of one of the containers that hadn't been destroyed in the blast and dragged it towards him, setting it down a few feet from her. Then he turned and sat down, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, propping his chin on his gloved hands. The wind, more noticeable this close to the jagged edges of the half-pod, ruffled his hair and caught the tails of his long coat, which flapped around his feet; the heavy material blew back to reveal the pistol strapped to his leather-clad thigh. Crichton could see from the direction of her gaze that Fisher had seen it, but she showed no reaction beyond a slight flare of recognition in her eyes. Fronting it out, Crichton thought to himself, a familiar voice floating into his head; you find yourself in trouble, son, you put a smile on your face and your chin in the air, and you keep 'em there, no matter what. It's what I would have done, in her shoes, he thought. It's what a Peacekeeper would do; what a Peacekeeper spy would have been trained for. He tilted his head to one side, keeping his eyes trained on her, considering her. She returned his gaze steadily, her breathing a little fast but her face blank, her jaw set.  
  
Aeryn joined him after pausing to observe the strange, almost mirror-like image of the two of them framed before her, dusted by the dim purple light from outside the pod. She chose to stay standing, flanking Crichton again, folding her arms across her chest. Fisher glanced up at her slightly warily, then looked back to Crichton, who tilted his head the other way, as if trying to see her from every possible angle.  
  
'Penny for them?' Fisher said, eventually, her voice relatively calm.  
Aeryn's eyes slid over to Crichton, wondering what he made of whatever Earth nonsense this was. A faint smile was playing over his lips; he'd wondered who'd crack and have to speak first. He didn't answer, though; simply raised his eyebrows with a vague smile and a slight shake of the head, as if he hadn't heard her clearly.  
  
Fisher swallowed nervously, her eyes flitting to Aeryn again, obviously unsettled.  
  
Frell, Crichton, thought Aeryn; when did you get to be good at this?  
  
'Penny for them, Crichton,' Fisher repeated, sounding slightly less assured. 'Your thoughts.'  
  
'Hmm,' said Crichton, sitting up a little further and dropping his clasped hands down, leaving his elbows resting on his knees, and never once taking his eyes from Fisher's. 'I was thinking that, for someone who wants me to believe that she's my long lost Cousin Judy, you've been keeping mighty quiet.'  
  
'You haven't believed anything I've said so far,' she answered sourly. 'You don't believe me now, so what's the point?'  
  
Crichton snorted, letting out one of those manic chuckles that he'd picked up recently and leaning back, clapping his hands together in black amusement. Then he leaned forward again, close to her face, a smile plastered across his face that didn't reach his eyes.  
  
'What's the point?' he spat at her. 'What's the point? I'm supposed to believe that you've fallen through a wormhole, you've wound up at the ass-end of the universe with no clue on how this place works or what these people are about, and when you run into the only Human being you are ever going to see again in your entire life, you...what? You can't be bothered? You're not in the mood?'  
Fisher blinked at the onslaught, evidently startled by its ferocity, but Crichton stayed where he was, leaning into her face, eyes wide, expectant.  
She looked away, sighing.  
  
'Yeah, they told me you had problems understanding women,' she muttered, half under her breath, but still audible, a smile tugging at the corner of her eye.  
  
'Oh, you are kidding me!' Crichton shouted, leaping out of his seat and standing at the edge of the pod with his back to them, letting the wind whip at his face. Aeryn started slightly at the sudden movement, but stayed where she was; he wouldn't thank her for an intervention now.  
  
'Oh, come on, Crichton,' Fisher called to his back, her confidence evidently increasing. 'What are you doing that's any different? There are a million questions you want to ask me; it's written all over your face. And you probably would have if Little Miss Pulse Rifle over here wasn't around.' She jerked her head towards Aeryn, who bristled, but made no move to strike, sure that she had been insulted, but not sure in what way. 'But you won't, or you can't, because you're scared that if you talk to me, you might start believing me.'  
She paused, but Crichton didn't move.  
  
'What is it, Crichton? Why would you be scared of me?'  
  
He stood in the wind for a moment longer, then turned, a hard look on his face.  
'I have my reasons,' he said, quietly.  
  
'So do I,' Fisher replied, lifting up her arms to remind him of the cuffs that still held her wrists together and looking at him pointedly. 'You stuck a gun up my nose before you even asked me my name, remember?'  
  
Crichton's words got caught in his throat at that, and he felt the guilt that had been creeping up on him threaten to overwhelm his resolve. He glanced at Aeryn, though, and saw her stern look; gritted his teeth; ran a hand over his face to calm himself down.  
  
'It's hardly the same thing,' he said, regaining his composure. 'You know who I am. I don't know you from Adam.'  
  
Fisher stared at him, and shook her head.  
  
'No, I don't know you. The John Crichton they described to me was trusting...kind...a generous spirit,' she said softly, turning her head to the floor. 'I don't think even D.K. would recognise this one.'  
  
Crichton's mouth snapped closed; he felt a prickling at his eyes and turned back to face the storm, a nervous hand absent-mindedly tugging at his lips. Trap, trap, trap, he repeated to himself, over and again; pressing your buttons, playing with you...  
  
'The real one wouldn't run away from the truth, either,' she added, 'however hard it was.'  
  
True, true, true, his thoughts echoed back as he closed his eyes tightly against his tears, forcing them back. His shoulders sagged as he opened his eyes and stared blankly out at the bleak landscape, wishing that the wind would simply envelop him and sweep him away.  
  
'All right, enough,' came a firm voice from inside the pod, forcing him to remember that not all of the uncharted territories was so bad...  
  
'You certainly talk like a Human - endlessly, pointlessly, utterly tediously,' Aeryn said scathingly to Fisher. 'But we don't have time for this conversation right now. Crichton, we have work to do.'  
  
She looked up at Crichton's still figure standing in the entranceway, buffeted by the wind, and felt her throat tighten. But it was true; this particular crisis was going to have to wait.  
  
'Crichton,' she shouted.  
  
He drew his shoulders back at that and stretched his neck, running a hand over his face. He felt relieved; if she'd gone all soft and sympathetic on him he'd probably have lost it completely. Breathing deeply, he turned around, his face an odd mix of desolation, resignation, and anger.  
  
'So what's the big plan, Stan?' he drawled, his voice cracking slightly in spite of himself.   
  
'Our mysterious friend here is going to start helping us.'  
  
Aeryn sat down on the container Crichton had been using as a chair, and adopted the same posture, elbows resting on knees, eyes on Fisher, firm but not wholly unfriendly. Crichton looked on, nonplussed by her apparent change of heart.  
'Tell me, Fisher,' she said, smiling amicably. 'Do you know what Sebacean Heat Delirium is?'  
  
  
***  
  
  
The Leviathan emerged from Starburst only a short distance from the original rendezvous point. As the great ship slowed, the three remaining crew members stared anxiously at the viewscreen of the command; the red planet was clearly visible, as were the trails of sparkling dust that continued to spiral away from its atmosphere off into space, now kept at a relatively safe distance. But there was no sign of the pod.  
  
Chiana stared at the control console before her, running her hands over the sensors to double-check. Zhaan, at another console, was doing the same, while Rygel propelled himself forwards, as if being closer to the screen might make them suddenly appear.  
  
'Where the frell are they?' breathed Chiana, throwing Zhaan a nervous look.  
Zhaan was still checking the controls.  
  
'We're definitely scanning the right location,' she said, gazing at the viewscreen. 'Perhaps they simply got tired of waiting for us,' she added, feebly.  
  
'In a transport pod? Where could they go?' snorted Rygel. 'I'll wager they're still on the surface - buried under six metras of dust.'  
  
'Pilot, how is Moya?' said Zhaan, ignoring him.  
  
'Unaffected at the moment, Zhaan, thank you,' answered Pilot, swivelling to blink at her through the holo-image. 'But she will need to move away from the planet very soon.'  
  
'Pilot,' said Chiana urgently, her quick black eyes darting over the lights on the console, 'I'm reading signs of a ship, not far from the rendezvous point.' She looked up with a grin and a chuckle at the viewer. 'Come on guys, get your butts back over here fast,' she murmured under her breath.  
  
Pilot's arms moved quickly over his den's console.  
  
'Confirming now, Chiana,' he said, and then paused, his mouth opening and his eyes widening in alarm.  
  
'It's not the pod,' he said, looking up at the crew fearfully. 'It's a Marauder. On a direct intercept course.'  
  
  
***  
  
  
Fisher was looking determinedly at the floor, her face devoid of any emotion beyond mild irritation. Her eyes flicked over to Crichton once, and once to Aeryn, but then settled back on the floor. She stayed silent.  
  
'Whoa, Aeryn, wait up,' said Crichton, stepping further into the pod.  
  
'What?' she said, innocently. 'We can't do a genetic test to prove that she's Human without Zhaan. But we can do a test to prove she's Sebacean.'  
  
'That's not a test, Aeryn, it's murder.'  
  
'Only if she's lying,' said Aeryn, slightly smugly, looking rather pleased with herself, but Crichton was shaking his head at her, a stubborn look on his face.  
'You can't be serious,' he said.  
  
'Why not?' she replied, calmly. 'What's your problem? If she's genuine, then there's no harm done. If not...' She shrugged.  
  
Crichton moved closer, grabbing her arm and pulling Aeryn to her feet so he could look into her eyes.  
  
'Even if she's not Human,' he breathed, holding his face close to hers, 'she doesn't deserve that. And you know it.'  
  
'If she's not Human, John,' she said, shaking her arm free of his grip, 'then she's a Peacekeeper.'  
  
'So were you,' he said, quickly, still keeping his face close in to her own. 'And so was Gilina.'  
  
Aeryn glared at him mulishly.  
  
'I seem to remember you wanting to toast her too. And if you had, we'd both be dead.'  
  
Aeryn kept staring at him, and then she narrowed her eyes, folding her arms across her chest and shifting her weight onto one leg.  
  
'Oh, so that's what this is about, is it?' she said, raising her eyebrows coldly.  
  
Crichton blinked at her for a moment, and then his mouth fell open.  
  
'Whaaat?' he stuttered out incredulously, glancing at Fisher with a stunned expression; then he ducked his head and looked up at Aeryn through his brows, his hands on his hips. 'That is not what this is about!'  
  
'Mmm?' she said, arms still folded, eyebrows still raised.  
  
Crichton looked at the floor, shaking his head in disbelief, then looked back at her, his mouth set in a furious line.  
  
The staring contest was interrupted by Fisher unsubtly clearing her throat.  
'Uh, if you two want me to go outside, give you a little privacy...' she said, eyes flitting between the two mockingly.  
  
Both Crichton and Aeryn immediately took a step back from one another and began shaking their heads, looking nonchalantly at anything other than one another.  
'No, that won't be necessary,' Crichton mumbled, scratching the back of his neck and hoping he wasn't blushing too obviously. Aeryn had suddenly found something very interesting blowing about outside which commanded her full attention. Fisher grinned mischievously.  
  
Seeing her face, Crichton blushed even deeper, and then tapped Aeryn on the arm.  
'Hey, c'mere,' he said, jerking his head towards the other side of the pod where the remaining containers were tumbled about the floor. She pursed her lips, and then followed him the few steps over there.  
  
'I mean it, Aeryn, I'm not gonna let you do that.'  
  
She looked slightly surprised at his rapid return to the matter at hand; a little smile tugged at his lips when he saw her response, but he carried on.  
'Besides, we don't have any way to turn up the heat. No ignition source, no fuel, and we got Hurricane Bob going on out there.'  
  
'I know that, Crichton,' Aeryn said with a touch of impatience.  
  
He frowned, confused.  
  
'It was intended as a threat, Crichton; to see what her reaction was.'  
  
'Oh,' said Crichton, feeling slightly foolish.  
  
'A threat which is now meaningless, as she can hear this conversation and now knows perfectly well that we have no means to induce the Delirium.'  
  
'Oh,' he said again, the foolish feeling getting worse.  
  
'Oh, indeed.'  
  
'Hey, I hate to break up yet another of your compelling conversations,' called Fisher, the smile still there, 'but did it cross your mind that all this would be a whole lot quicker if you quit thinking up novelty ways to get me to talk and just...you know, asked me some questions?'  
  
Aeryn glared at her, and then at Crichton. He shrugged, unhelpfully.   
  
'Yes, it crossed our minds,' Aeryn said crossly, her hands on her hips and her lip curling into a sneer. 'But we don't know who you are, and shortly after meeting you, our pod exploded. That sort of thing doesn't tend to inspire trust.'  
  
'I told you, that had nothing to do with me.'  
  
Aeryn continued to glare.  
  
'Look, what am I gonna do? Make this situation worse?' Fisher cast a pointed look around at the pod, her eyebrows raised comically in an expression which again reminded Aeryn unavoidably of Crichton.  
  
Huffing, she turned on her heel and went back to the seat opposite Fisher.  
'Fine,' she said, curtly.  
  
Fisher nodded.  
  
'This doesn't mean I trust you, OK?' Aeryn said, quickly.  
  
She nodded again, smiling.  
  
Aeryn clenched her fists and then breathed deeply.  
  
'That explosion,' she said. 'Did you know it was coming?'  
  
Fisher shook her head.  
  
'Was it aimed at you?'  
  
She shook her head again, looking bemused by the suggestion.  
  
'You're sure?'  
  
'Quite sure. I only know a handful of people...so far as I know I haven't done anything to warrant anything quite like that.' She jerked her head towards the wrecked bits and pieces outside and managed a weak smile. 'Sempra's the only one I know who'd even know how, and he's hardly going to trash his own bots.'  
  
Aeryn looked blank for a moment.  
  
'Sempra? The Pariekan you hired for the loading work.' Fisher explained helpfully.  
  
Aeryn rolled her eyes in disgust.  
  
'Oh, they're all like that. He's one of the better ones, actually. I'm going to be in deep crap when he sees this lot, though. Bet he takes it out of my rations, too - he's hardly going to ask you two to pay. One look at those uniforms of yours and he was all over the shop.'  
  
'You work for him?' Aeryn said, her interest stirring.  
  
Fisher nodded, shrugging. 'We've all got to eat.'  
  
'This Sempra...would he have access to any transports? Spaceworthy ones?'  
Fisher looked at her sideways, as if wondering whether or not to co-operate. Aeryn pursed her lips impatiently.  
  
'Listen, Emma Fisher,' she said, pronouncing the unfamiliar name carefully but with obvious distaste. 'I don't have time for any of this dren, OK? I don't give a Karvaylian dongbell who you are or what you want; we need to get out of here, and to do that we need a transport, right?' Her usually scant patience worn to breaking point, Aeryn's voice rose as she spoke, the hard Peacekeeper edge creeping into it.  
  
Fisher turned her head slightly to Crichton and mouthed the word 'dongbell?' to him with a quizzical smirk, catching him off guard thinking the same thing; he grinned instinctively, before turning away again uncomfortably.  
  
'Right?' demanded Aeryn again, even louder this time.  
  
Fisher jumped, then nodded. 'You want the closest thing this dustball can offer to a spaceworthy transport, then Sempra is your man...er...bird...man-bird-thing...' she trailed off with a nervy smile.  
  
'Right,' said Aeryn, satisfied at last that she was getting somewhere. 'Where will I find him?'  
  
  
***  
  
  
'By the goddess,' murmured Zhaan, as the approaching Marauder appeared on the viewscreen. Compared to Moya, the Peacekeeper vessel was small, but lethal; weaponless as the Leviathan was, she could not hope to prevent it from docking.  
  
'We are being scanned,' said Pilot miserably, not bothering to produce a holographic representation. They had all experienced this before.  
  
Chiana finally managed to draw a breath, her eyes, saucer-wide, still fixed on the growing image of the approaching ship.  
  
'Weapons locker?' she murmured to Zhaan.  
  
'Against five commandos? We don't stand a chance,' the Delvian replied bitterly.  
  
They were both briefly distracted by the sight of Rygel speeding past them, in reverse, breathing heavily.  
  
'Hey, where d'you think you're going, you little toad?' Chiana yelled.  
  
'To hide my possessions, you idiot,' Rygel answered, as he spun out of sight, his voice echoing back into the command from the corridor. 'I can't stop them taking me, but they're not having my gems!'  
  
'Pilot, is there no way Moya can Starburst?'  
  
'As I said before, she has not yet restored enough energy.'  
  
Zhaan and Chiana glanced at one another in panic, realising they were thinking the same thing; that this was one of those moments when they needed Crichton. He'd come up with some insanely risky plan, right at the last minute, and pull them from the jaws of disaster. Probably to lead them straight into another one, of course, but still, he had his moments...  
  
'Pilot, how about if she got more of that Borium stuff up her nose?' said Chiana, trying to think like he would. 'We move in a little closer to the planet, and she sneezes us back out of here?'  
  
Zhaan looked at Chiana in surprise; that sounds like it could actually work, she thought, unexpectedly impressed. Unfortunately, Pilot was shaking his head.  
  
'Moya's previous 'sneeze', as you call it, still required energy in excess of her current status. If she were to take on a similar level of Borium now, she would be unable to expel it. It would utterly disable her.'  
  
Chiana managed a desperate smile. 'Let's not do that, then,' she said, weakly.  
  
The pair stood watching helplessly as the Marauder continued to gain on them, half filling the viewscreen. Then, abruptly, it stopped moving, and hovered, still some distance from docking.  
  
'What's happening?' murmured Chiana, not sure if she wanted to hear the answer.  
  
'Are they preparing to fire, Pilot?' said Zhaan, equally uncertain.  
  
Pilot's eyes moved rapidly over the sensors before him, and then he frowned.  
'No,' he said, in a surprised voice. 'The Marauder appears to be...pulling back.'  
  
'What?' both women chorused.  
  
But the viewscreen confirmed it. The Marauder turned on its axis and sped away from them, disappearing into the dust.  
  
'How the frell did that happen?'   
  
Zhaan looked at the young Nebari, her blue eyes troubled.  
  
'I have no idea,' she said. 'But it looked like they were going down to the planet.'  
  
  
***  
  
  
The Marauder skirted the planet's dust-filled atmosphere for a few more microts.  
'Prowler Two, dock immediately,' came a crackling transmission to the single smaller fighter craft which was following in its wake. 'The Leviathan can wait. This storm is blocking communications, but it appears the last transmission came from the planet's surface. That is our priority.'  
  
'Acknowledged, Captain,' came the return transmission, also fretted with static.  
  
The Prowler swooped into the larger ship's docking bay immediately, the doors closing behind it at once. Then the Marauder shifted position and dived down towards the planet, cutting through the swathes of red and silver dust like a knife.  
  
  
***  
  
  
'No change,' said Crichton dispiritedly, as he straightened up. D'Argo's breathing was steady, and there was no further bleeding, but he still showed no signs of waking up again. 'You think maybe we missed something?'  
  
Aeryn shrugged as she checked the pulse rifle.  
  
'I don't know. All the more reason to get transport back to Moya as soon as possible.'  
  
'I'm telling you, it'll be quicker if you take me with you,' Fisher protested.  
  
Aeryn shook her head again. 'You're not going anywhere.'  
  
She looked up at Crichton as he left D'Argo's side and walked towards her, glancing past her at the sky, still dark purple and red.  
  
'You gonna be OK out in that?' he asked.  
  
She wrapped a black scarf around her head, tucking her long dark hair into it.  
'I'll be fine, John. You?'  
  
Her eyes flicked over to Fisher, but Crichton gave her a reassuring smile.  
'We're just gonna talk, Aeryn. Don't worry, all bets are off till I get a yea or nay from Zhaan.'  
  
Aeryn gave a satisfied nod and headed out into the storm, leaning into the gale.  
  
'Be careful,' Crichton called after her, but his words were taken by the wind. He turned, once again trying to scrape some of the dust out of his eyes, hair, skin as he ducked back into the shelter of the pod. Pointless, he thought. Everything was crusted with it; he'd be washing this crap off for days. He sighed, and sat down on the container opposite Fisher, feeling the strain of the last few hours begin to take its toll as a slow, dull ache spread across his shoulders and back and his head started to throb. He tried stretching the muscles out, dropping his head onto each shoulder, feeling the crunch as he did so, but he knew it wouldn't be enough. The only thing that would ease this would be a whole night of calm, peaceful, unbroken sleep - and he hadn't seen one of those in a very long time.  
  
'She's pretty,' Fisher said quietly, and he realised that she was watching him carefully, considering him as he had her earlier. 'Not your usual type, though.'  
  
He looked at her with a frown, the uncomfortable feeling coming back. Fisher's look of slightly desperate amusement was gone, however; now she just looked thoughtful.  
  
'Top tip for ya,' he said, continuing to stretch. 'You want to stay in my good books, steer clear of that one.' He stopped, catching her eye pointedly for a second, and then relaxed, falling back into the position he'd sat in earlier, his hands clasped, his chin propped on his thumbs.  
  
She gave him a quick nod of acknowledgement, then looked impassively out at the storm.  
  
'I'm sorry,' she said, softly, not looking at him.  
  
'What for?'   
  
'For whatever happened to you to make you afraid to believe me,' she said slowly, carefully, keeping her eyes on the eddies of dust outside. 'For this situation not working out quite the way you would have wanted.'  
  
She turned to face him again, with a wan smile. 'Well, not the way I would have wanted, anyway.'  
  
'What did you expect?' he said, in a neutral voice.  
  
'Oh, I don't know,' she said, sighing and slumping back against the wall of the pod. 'Not fireworks and a big parade, but...well, not handcuffs, either.' She jingled her hands in her lap. 'What about you?'  
  
He looked up, smiling a little. 'Oh, I never really expected it. Not out here. Figured the IASA wouldn't risk sending anyone else up after losing me.' The smile stayed, but something in his eyes shifted, darkened slightly as he watched her.  
  
Fisher smiled ruefully. 'Oh, I'll be the last, don't worry about that. You know what they say: losing one astronaut's an accident; losing two seems like carelessness. Hell, they've probably grounded every crew they've got. Never thought I'd be contributing to the prevention of deep-space exploration, did you?' She shook her head sadly, her smile bleak.  
  
Crichton carried on watching her, saying nothing, his eyes still slightly hooded. She looked back out at the dust-filled air, sighing, and then looked back at him, her face serious.  
  
'Look, if you'd rather I just shut up, then say so,' she said, her voice sounding uncertain. He didn't respond.  
  
'I understand, Crichton,' she said, leaning forward, copying his posture. 'I know that every word I say about Earth makes it harder for you to believe me, not easier; makes it sound more and more like I'm trying to persuade you, however much you want to hear it.'  
  
She paused, but Crichton didn't waver.  
  
'I know you don't want to hear it unless you know that you can believe it,' she said.  
  
Crichton went on staring, and then blinked, focusing again.  
  
'Anything you don't know?' he said, the sarcasm coming out bitter.  
  
She managed a humourless laugh.  
  
'You learn fast out here, Crichton. You have to.'  
  
'Ain't that the truth,' he said, rubbing a hand over his face. He massaged his neck with it, staring grimly at the floor, struggling to keep back the tide of emotions welling up inside him, to keep cool and calm and in control. This was too much, on top of everything else he'd been through; this was just way too much to ask...   
  
'Damn!' he breathed, dropping his hand from his face and leaning his head back, drawing in a deep breath. Then he dropped forward again purposefully, hands on his knees, elbows out, his face worried but resolved.  
  
'Just tell me, OK? Just...' He broke off, his voice cracking, and swallowed hard, his eyes darting away from her as if ashamed. 'Just tell me they're OK.'  
  
Fisher's eyes seemed to gleam with tears for an instant, a look of intense sadness crossing her small features; in a moment, though, it was gone, and when Crichton looked up at her she was smiling tensely at him, and nodding.  
  
'They're fine, Crichton,' she said, the smile widening as he put his hands up to his lips, as if his fingers were trying to push the feelings back inside. The desperate relief and hope that had flooded into his eyes was heartbreaking.  
  
  
***  
  
  
Aeryn pulled the scarf away from her face, staring round at the muddle of curtained stalls and hooded creatures struggling through the storm. The walk across the barren plain had been unpleasant, and it was a relief to be in the relative shelter of the marketplace again; the outpost had been built in a natural dip in the landscape, and although the wind still swirled clouds of thick dust into her face, it was nothing compared to the sandblasting she'd received on the short journey from the pod.  
  
She wrinkled up her nose as a group of Pariekans hurried past her, heads sunk in their long robes; away from these odd creatures, she'd forgotten quite how bad they smelled. No wonder D'Argo had been so keen to leave...  
  
She moved on, wrapping the scarf around the lower half of her face for protection from both the wind and the stench of unwashed Pariekan. As she weaved her way through the stalls, she noticed for the first time that not all the beings in the market were Pariekans; in fact, there seemed to be quite a variety of different species. All had the same reaction to her, however; even with the scarf covering her face, they clearly knew a Peacekeeper when they saw one - knew, and feared. The anxiety that had been lurking in the pit of her stomach since they'd lost contact with Moya flared again, and she unconsciously tightened her grip on the pulse rifle. We really need to get out of here, she thought to herself grimly.  
  
At the end of one of the rows of stalls, she turned to her left, walked the length of a high wall, and then ducked into a dark, cave-like opening. Before her a vast, low-ceilinged workshop opened out, its floor littered with pieces of machinery and tools. A string of dim, faltering bulbs had been hung round the walls, but most of the light came from an opening at the other side of the room, through which she could see a number of hooded beings struggling to move equipment in the gale. The only other light came from the furthest corner: a familiar-looking figure was standing over a squat metal drone and welding a sixth arm onto it, the sparking light from the welding tool in his hand casting a huge, flickering shadow across the room.  
  
'Sempra!' she shouted, tugging the scarf away from her face.  
  
The Pariekan started as she spoke, the welder jerking in his hand and sending a shower of sparks into the air. He squinted at her from his dark corner for a moment, obviously about to shout some abuse, and then a look of panicked recognition spread over his odd, feathery face. Switching off the tool, he leaned down briefly to pat a bundle of rags on the ground, appearing to speak to it; as it got up and ran off to the outdoor work area, she realised it was a small child, though the hood over its face made it hard to be sure it was a Pariekan.  
  
Aeryn frowned, following the child with her eyes, but Sempra appeared in her vision, smiling anxiously and bowing repeatedly as he limped up to her.  
  
'Is there a problem, sir?' he said, breathlessly, still smiling fearfully. 'Anything I can do to fix it, just say the word, sir, just say the word. Always happy to help such...distinguished visitors.'  
  
Aeryn blinked at him for a moment, distracted, but decided to let it pass; this was no time for worrying about semantics. He was frightened of her; that was the only thing that mattered.  
  
'Glad to hear it,' she said curtly, scanning the room with an imperious look on her face, as if slightly revolted by his presence. 'I need a new transport. Mine has been...damaged.'  
  
An odd, almost pleased look seemed to pass over the yellow face, but the creature immediately bowed again, and when he came up his face was crumpled with slightly overdone concern.  
  
'Damaged, you say. Very bad, very bad. We would never want guests such as yourself thinking that such things were commonplace on this planet. Oh no, not at all. It is a very safe place, this planet. Very safe, yes.'  
  
Aeryn looked at him out of the corner of her eye as she glanced around the room again, feeling slightly uncomfortable. Does he know about the explosion? she wondered.  
  
'I'm sure it is,' she said, dismissively. 'So, a transport?'  
  
A greasy smile appeared on Sempra's face.  
  
'First, perhaps, we should discuss the matter of payment.'  
  
Aeryn nodded her head, still gazing coolly around the room. Then, suddenly, her gun was in her hand, and it was pointing right at his feathery face.  
  
'Certainly,' she said, smiling coldly. 'Here's my offer: give me a transport, now, and I let you live.'  
  
The Pariekan seemed to shrink slightly from the weapon, wringing his hands together, still smiling obsequiously. But he began to shake his head.  
  
'No, no, I'm afraid that that won't do, no, won't do at all,' he said, the smile getting firmer.  
  
Aeryn blinked at him, stunned, but the Pariekan went on smiling.  
  
'Did you not hear me?' she bellowed at him.  
  
'Oh, I heard you, sir, heard you loud and clear,' he answered, nodding now and almost bowing again. 'But if you shoot me now, you still have no transport. So I don't think you'll shoot me, sir, will you?'  
  
Aeryn shifted her feet slightly, glaring at the grinning creature with fury.  
'Do you not know who I am? Do you not recognise this uniform?' she shouted, bewildered by this filthy creature's response, but knowing that this bluff had to pay off. They had nothing to trade for a ride off the planet; if this didn't work, they'd be stuck here for the duration.  
  
Sempra looked her up and down, the false smile staying on his face, but a knowing look creeping into his eyes.  
  
'Yes, sir, yes, I recognise the uniform, sir. That, sir, is the uniform of a Peacekeeper. A nosy Pariekan might wonder who you stole it from, sir, but I wouldn't ask such a personal question, sir. Your business is yours, sir. Safer not to know, eh?'  
  
Aeryn stared at him, that anxious feeling becoming full-on paranoia.  
'How dare you insult me in this way?' she said, through gritted teeth, hoping it sounded more convincing to him than it did to her. Stepping forward, she grabbed him by the shoulder and swung him round, pushing him towards the rear entrance to the workshop yard, the rifle to his neck. Even if she couldn't intimidate him, perhaps she could persuade his workforce that she posed a threat.  
  
Stepping out into the yard, she blinked repeatedly, the brightness and the dust hard to adjust to after the dim workshop. When her vision had cleared, she looked around, and gasped. The yard was empty; the crowd of workers she had seen had completely vanished, and nothing was left but a few battered pieces of equipment and the vehicle and trailer that Sempra had driven away from the pod.  
A light chuckle escaped from the creature's mouth, and she pushed him away disgustedly, kicking at the ground in frustration.  
  
'My workers know the uniform too, sir. Easily scared, my workers are. Don't know you like I do, sir. Thought you were coming for them, not joining them.' He chuckled again, still bowing, but with a smug look on his face.  
  
'Joining them? What are you talking about?'  
  
'Why else would you come here, if you weren't running, sir? The storms might not be pretty, but they have their uses, eh, sir? Keep us all safe from the leathermen, sir.'  
  
Aeryn frowned, realising gradually that the creature wasn't simply talking rubbish.  
  
'Fugitives...and the storms...they keep them safe from the Peacekeepers...' she said slowly.  
  
Sempra ducked down and grabbed a handful of dust off the ground, letting it run through his fingers and be taken by the wind.  
  
'Borium, sir. No transmissions, no communications. Nine days out of ten the wind blows, and you're as safe as if no-one was after you at all. But that's why you came, sir, isn't it? To keep yourself safe?'  
  
'So that's why we lost contact with Moya,' Aeryn said, under her breath, relieved that the explanation was so simple. She looked back at the Pariekan. 'Why are you so sure I'm not a Peacekeeper?'  
  
Sempra laughed, his beady eyes sparkling.  
  
'Oh, sometimes you can just tell, sir. Something in your manner, sir, if you don't mind me saying. That other one, the male you had with you? Now him I was taken in by, I don't mind admitting. But not you, sir, oh no.'  
  
  
***  
  
  
'We are now at a safe distance,' announced Pilot.  
  
'Safe? When have we ever been safe?' grumbled Rygel, his pride still slightly dented after his response to the threat of the Marauder.  
  
'I am picking up low-level traces of Borium in Moya's respiratory systems, but nothing which would cause a severe reaction. Our current orbit can be maintained indefinitely.'  
  
'Or until that Marauder comes back,' said Zhaan bleakly. 'Pilot, do we have any idea how long this storm will last?'  
  
'I'm afraid I have no data on that,' he replied, blinking at her through the holo-screen.  
  
'There must be some way we can warn them,' said Chiana desperately, her face wrinkled up with fear.  
  
'Warn them? We don't even know if they're still alive.' Rygel swooped to the other side of the Command in anticipation of Chiana's strike, but it never came; she was too busy staring at the viewscreen, searching the stars hopelessly, knowing that what she was looking for wasn't there. Not even Zhaan had the energy to tell him to shut up, and his words were left hanging in the air, not just a flippant joke anymore.  
  
'Perhaps...' Zhaan began, hanging her head, unable to bring herself to continue.  
Chiana looked over at her, horror in her teary eyes.  
  
'No,' the Nebari said, backing away and shaking her head. 'We are not running out on them, not this time.'  
  
'Chiana,' said Zhaan, in a tremulous voice, gripping the edges of the console to keep herself upright; the youngster's anguish was almost as painful as the thought of John, Aeryn and D'Argo, trapped, lost, gone...  
  
Chiana took a last look out at the stars, and then ran out of the Command.  
'Pilot,' she yelled, 'prepare the Prowler for take-off.'  
  
  
***  
  
  
Crichton rubbed tears out of his eyes with gloved fingers, breathing deeply. Somewhere in the back of his head there was a little voice telling him not to listen, not to believe, not to let himself get fooled again. Somebody tried to blow us up a few arns ago, John, it was saying; and when has anything this good been for real since you got here? But it didn't matter what the little voice said. He remembered what Aeryn had said when they'd found the first wanted beacon down on Dam-Ba-Da, when she'd watched the message from Crais with its false offer of a pardon. If you knew it was bogus, why did you listen to it? he'd asked. Because it was nice, she'd said, just for second, to believe it was genuine. He'd thought he understood what she meant back then; boy, did he understand it now. The little voice didn't matter. Right now, he just wanted to listen.  
  
'I wasn't part of the original project,' Fisher was saying, 'though of course I knew about it. I was working in another department in Australia when you were there testing the engines a few years back - sneaked out to watch a few of your test runs, though.'  
  
Crichton had that sinking feeling. Wilson, Cobb...the last time he'd seen 'Australia' hadn't worked out too well, the little voice reminded him.  
  
'I was in Georgia, on the plasma research program, when you disappeared - that's Georgia as in Russia, Crichton,' she said with a small smile, watching his face carefully.  
  
Crichton's heart skipped in spite of himself. His face had brightened when she'd said Georgia; she'd understood why; understood how to correct him. Scorpius couldn't have done that, surely? The chair had seen a lot, but...Stop it, John, he told himself sternly. No decisions. Not yet, not without proof.  
  
'You were a bit of an embarrassment to the IASA. Famous astronaut's son goes and gets himself killed trying some hare-brained experiment? Doesn't look too good in the papers. They closed the Farscape project down right away, reassigned everyone, spent a few months making excuses to the press. But they reckoned without Jack Crichton.'  
  
Crichton smiled, the mental image of his Dad up against a roomful of sharp-suited executives irresistible.  
  
'Everyone at IASA who'd seen the data from your flight agreed that your disappearance was the result of freak conditions, that the slingshot was still viable - and your Dad made sure that was a lot of people. He whipped up a little press attention, and after a while the suits caved in...he can be pretty persuasive.'  
  
The smile faded slowly from Crichton's face.  
  
'My Dad...' he murmured, dropping his eyes to the floor as something tightened in his chest.  
  
Fisher gazed at the top of his lowered head with what looked like sadness; she swallowed uncomfortably, but pulled a smile back onto her face as Crichton lifted his eyes and looked at her questioningly.  
  
'When you first disappeared, he took it pretty hard.,' she said, looking out at the storm as if unable to meet his eyes. 'Spent a few weeks bouncing around meteorology, bawling at everybody and telling them it was their fault. D.K. said he used to come into work and find him asleep at the computer, going over the atmospheric readouts, trying to find an explanation. Eventually a few of the senior bosses managed to get him to take some leave, and D.K. went with him. Moved into your old place, made sure he was sleeping and eating and all that stuff. The IASA insisted on doing a memorial service...after that he seemed to pick up, threw himself into getting Farscape going again.'  
  
'He thinks I'm dead, doesn't he?' Crichton said hoarsely, staring at the floor.  
  
Fisher sighed. 'I don't think he knows what he thinks. I'm not sure any of them do. The readouts from when you disappeared don't show any signs of an explosion, any debris, any residual energy traces at all; they just don't know what happened.'  
  
She paused, but Crichton didn't move; the excitement that had danced in his eyes had faded.  
  
'They haven't given up hope, Crichton,' she said softly. 'They're just...finding a way to live with the fact that they may never know what happened.'  
  
Crichton rubbed at his eyes again, and then let out a long, slow breath, sitting up and stretching his back. He breathed deeply for a few moments, and then looked at Fisher, struggling to put a smile on his face.  
  
'So, what happened to Farscape Two?' he said throatily.  
  
'Well, it'll probably sound fairly familiar. Was about to slingshot when everybody suddenly started screaming at me, all the systems went offline and then bang! Something hit and I got chucked into the big blue washing machine.'  
  
'Where'd you come out?' he asked, remembering his own abrupt arrival in this part of the universe with discomfort.  
  
'No idea,' Fisher answered. 'I got picked up by a salvage transport. They thought I was some kind of mutant defective, because I couldn't understand them, so they dumped me at their next stop. Ran into a few unpleasant types down there who injected me with translator microbes in time for me to realise they were about to kill me; had to trade them the module to stay alive. Since then I've been picking up transports when I can, keeping moving. I figured if I was still alive then you might be too, so I thought I'd start looking. Didn't seem to be much else to do.'  
  
Crichton nodded slowly.  
  
'Anyway, what about you?' Fisher said, with a slightly forced laugh. 'You must have been having a pretty...interesting time out here.'  
  
Crichton scratched his head ruefully, laughing too.  
  
'Yeah, believe me, Buck Rogers had it easy...'  
  
He tailed off, wondering where the hell to start, or even if he should, but a sound from the other end of the pod saved him from the decision.  
  
'D'Argo!' Crichton yelled ecstatically, as he saw the Luxan raising himself up off his face and swinging his legs gingerly off the shelf. He jumped to his feet and practically ran across the pod, a big grin spreading across his face.  
D'Argo grunted, shaking his head slightly as he shifted himself into a sitting position and bent forward carefully. Crichton reached him and resisted the urge to give him a hearty slap on the back, ducking into a crouch instead so he could look into his friend's face.  
  
'Man, I am glad you're OK, buddy,' he said, still grinning, reaching up to squeeze his arm. 'We were starting to think we might have killed you.'  
  
D'Argo lifted his eyes to Crichton's and gave him a grateful smile, but the continuing pain clouded his face.  
  
'Hey, maybe you should lie down again, big guy,' said Crichton quickly, the grin being replaced by a worried frown. 'Not so long ago you were doing a fine impression of a shish kebab.'  
  
D'Argo shook his head firmly and gripped the edge of the ledge, pushing himself upwards.  
'No, I have to...' he growled, and then paused as a wave of dizziness and pain pushed him back down to the shelf. 'Have to...lie down again,' he murmured, allowing Crichton to help him rest on his side.   
  
'Atta boy, D'Argo,' John said, smiling again. 'Just take it slow.'  
  
D'Argo lay still for a moment, waiting for his breathing to return to normal pace. Then he glanced around, noting with displeasure that the strange woman was still with them, and that the pod was in ruins.  
  
'Where's Aeryn?' he said.  
  
'Ah, she went back to the outpost to look for that yellow friend of yours. See if we can't get us a transport and get off this rock.'  
  
D'Argo grunted in irritation.  
  
'Him? That feathered idiot and his frelling bots nearly graved me.'  
  
Crichton narrowed his eyes, looking at D'Argo slightly askance.  
  
'Uh...you get a knock on the head out there, D'Argo?'  
  
D'Argo frowned at Crichton, and then shook his head, wincing as he did so.  
'I don't believe so, John. Why do you ask?'  
  
'Well, what you just...the Pariekan...' Crichton paused, scooting back a little way. 'Wait a minute. Did you see something? You know who blew us up?'  
And he'd let her go off to bargain with him...alone...  
  
'I just told you, John, it was the bots.' Seeing Crichton's blank expression, D'Argo sighed. 'That barrel of Chakan oil that Aeryn bought - one of them dropped it. It smashed open, spilled everywhere, and then...one of the others fell into it.'  
  
He dropped his eyes to the floor in embarrassment; it would hardly have been a fitting end for a Luxan warrior.  
  
Crichton looked first bewildered, then astonished, and then he threw his head back and laughed out loud.  
  
'The bots!' he whooped, standing up and twirling around. 'Nobody tried to blow us up!'  
  
D'Argo looked at Crichton, who was now practically dancing on the spot, with slightly contemptuous amusement; his Human friend never ceased to amaze him.  
  
'Are you sure it is not you that received a head injury, Crichton?'  
  
  
***  
  
  
Aeryn's mouth was set in an angry line. Negotiations and niceties were not her forte, but Sempra seemed unconcerned by her threats; he had the upper hand in this situation, and they both knew it.  
  
'Just a half-cycle's work, sir, and you can have the pick of my transports,' he was saying, rubbing his hands together and giving her an oily smile.  
  
'I can't stay here for a half-cycle! We need a transport now.'  
  
'Then we have a problem, don't we? Or rather, you do.' He smirked and turned away, heading back towards the shelter of the dark workshop.  
  
'Wait,' Aeryn said, following him and stopping him in the doorway. 'We must be able to come to some arrangement...our ship has valuables aboard - we can send them back down to you.'  
  
Sempra chuckled, shaking his head. 'Payment first, always. And if your ship had any valuables aboard you would have brought them here for trade, instead of the piles of broken-down plock your tentacled friend offered me.'  
  
Aeryn pursed her lips; there was no answer to that.  
  
'Well...what about a ride? We don't need to buy a transport, just to get back to our ship.' Assuming its still there, she added silently.  
  
Sempra's grin widened. 'A half-cycle's work was the fee for a single journey, 'Peacekeeper',' he said witheringly. 'I would need a little more than that for a permanent trade.' The withering grin was replaced by a salacious one, as he leaned in closer to her and ran his eyes appreciatively over her frame.  
  
Aeryn shuddered, grimacing at the mental image this conjured up, as well as the stench coming off the creature's filthy robes.   
  
'Don't touch me,' she said, pushing him away with a sneer and a grunt of disgust.  
  
The Pariekan shrugged. 'Your choice. But you might find yourself here for a very long time unless you're willing to trade your...best goods.'  
  
She shuddered again, revolted, and turned to leave. 'Fine, if you can't get me a transport, I'll find someone who can.'  
  
Sempra giggled as he strolled back into the workshop, calling out a 'Good luck,' over his shoulder.  
  
Aeryn hovered in the doorway for a moment, furious. This was going to be impossible; if Sempra had seen through the Peacekeeper pose, then so would any of the other traders, and they still had nothing worth trading. Stealing a transport was starting to look like the only option, but with D'Argo out of action, a swift getaway wouldn't be easy - and there were enough people chasing them already without adding an enraged Pariekan to the list. Maybe they'd just have to wait for a break in the storm, to allow them to try contacting Moya again, and tell them it was safe to send down another pod. But that could take days; and she couldn't even say for sure that Moya was still there to be contacted...  
  
As the dust around her swirled even stronger than before, she looked up to the purple sky and realised that waiting around wasn't an option, either. Beyond the wall, a large, battle-scarred ship was descending, unfolding its landing gear and settling onto the patch of dirt at the other end of the yard.  
  
'Oh, frell,' she breathed.  
  
It was the Marauder.  
  
  
***  
  
  
'No way, Zhaan. I'm going - and you can't stop me.'  
  
Chiana checked the pulse rifle's chamber one last time, and then hurled it into the Prowler's cockpit, lifting a skinny leg after it.  
  
'Yes, I can, my dear,' Zhaan said darkly, switching her attention from the Nebari to the small viewer set into one corner of the bay. 'Pilot? Please close the bay doors immediately.'  
  
Pilot blinked, his arms hovering over the controls as he looked from one of the females to the other.  
  
'Ignore that, Pilot,' said Chiana firmly, climbing fully into the rear of the ship and poking just her white head out to speak.  
  
Pilot continued to blink. The bay doors remained open.  
  
'Pilot!' shouted Zhaan, furiously, but he still made no move to follow her command.  
  
'Listen, Zhaan,' Chiana said, her head reappearing from inside the Prowler again, now with a headset tucked into her hair and two small red bulbs glowing at the corners of her eyes. 'I'm just gonna go take a look, OK?' She disappeared inside again.  
  
'If those Peacekeepers see you they'll shoot you down. We have no idea what's going on down there, Chiana. You might make things worse.' Zhaan's voice was softer now, with a pleading edge to it.  
  
'Only one way to find out,' came a muffled voice from inside as the engines began to whine.  
  
'Communications are still down,' Zhaan added, raising her voice over the rising engine noise. 'If you get into trouble we won't be able to help you. And if that Marauder comes back, Moya may have to leave without you.'  
  
'Sorry, Zhaan, can't hear you,' Chiana yelled, reaching up to close off the cockpit.  
  
'Zhaan, I suggest you step back from the Prowler,' Pilot said, waving an arm to increase the projection volume as the noise continued to rise.  
  
Zhaan shot him a venomous look, and then turned and swept out of the bay, muttering under her breath. The doors slid closed behind her as the Prowler rose into the air, turned, and headed out into space.  
  
  
***  
  
  
Tucked just inside the entrance to Sempra's dim workshop, Aeryn could clearly see the five uniformed commandos as they worked their way through the marketplace, stopping at each stall in turn. The crowds that had been hurrying through the market had disappeared, and behind every heavy curtain and closed door, the Peacekeepers found a group of huddled, frightened villagers. Those with hooded or masked faces were revealed; a number fell to their knees, begging for mercy, only to have dust kicked in their faces. But the commandos weren't interested in these fugitives, it seemed; they were obviously looking for someone else. And they were inexorably working their way towards her...  
  
She glanced around the workshop, noting with relief that its murky recesses would easily give her somewhere to hide. She lingered where she was for a moment longer, though; two of the commandos appeared to have paused in their search of the stalls, and had stopped to talk. Leaning as far forward as she dared, she strained to listen.   
  
'Anything?' said the taller one, tersely.  
  
The commando standing next to him shook her head, as she pressed a number of controls on the small, boxy device she had cupped in her hands. Some kind of receiver, Aeryn surmised, although it wasn't technology she was familiar with.  
  
'I'm not receiving any signals at all, sir,' said the female Peacekeeper, continuing to struggle with the device's controls.  
  
'The storm,' said the male irritably.  
  
'Her last transmission definitely came from this area, sir. She can't be far from here.'  
  
'Then we continue searching until we find her, Officer Kale.' He looked around him with a sneer, then walked on, tearing down the heavy drapes that sheltered the next rickety stall from the winds and dust to reveal another huddle of creatures.   
  
Aeryn stepped back into the workshop quickly, and headed for the pile of junk in the furthest, darkest corner. To her surprise, Sempra suddenly beckoned to her from the other side of the room, as he pulled at one of the workbenches. It slid back to reveal a grille set into the floor, covering a deep, dark hole in the ground. The Pariekan lifted the grille up with difficulty, and then waved her over to him again, an urgent look on his odd face.  
  
She narrowed her eyes suspiciously for a moment, but the grille was clearly a better hiding place than the junkpile, and she would be able to see and hear the Peacekeepers questioning Sempra far more easily. She ran lightly over to him with a nod of thanks, jumped down the hole, pulled the grille down over her head and crouched down, waiting as Sempra hauled the workbench back to its former position. With the bench in place, she could still see a little of the room through the spaces in the grille, but unless someone knew where to look she was highly unlikely to be discovered.  
  
She didn't have long to wait. She could see Sempra fussing around near the back of the workshop, attempting to seem busy, and then saw him start and turn as the two commandos she had been eavesdropping on earlier appeared in the doorway.  
Sempra hurried forward, bowing and grinning oleaginously as he had done to Crichton outside the pod.  
  
'Sirs, sirs, how can I help?' he cooed at them.  
  
'Shut it, Pariekan,' said the male Peacekeeper, coldly, looking at a point somewhere above the feathered creature's head. 'I'm not in the mood for any dren today.'   
  
As he spoke, the female stalked around the perimeter of the workshop, the junkpile Aeryn had been headed for her first target. Finding nothing, she continued to search the room carefully, leaning into every dark corner. Aeryn held her breath as she drew near to the workbench above her, shrinking back into the shadows, but the female passed on quickly, seeing nothing. She had barely had time to exhale, however, when she saw something that made her catch her breath sharply. While the female had been searching, the male had produced a data capsule and activated it; between him and Sempra now revolved a semi-transparent holo-image of Emma Fisher.  
  
Sempra was shaking his head, the nervous slimy smile still in place.  
  
'You wouldn't be lying to me, would you, Pariekan? Since my last visit, I've heard some nasty rumours about you harbouring fugitives at this stinking outpost.' The Peacekeeper walked around the holo-image, appearing at the Pariekan's shoulder and leaning in close. 'You needn't worry about protecting this one from us, though. She's one of ours. Besides, it's who she might have with her that we're interested in.' He gave Sempra a sinister grin.  
  
'I'd never lie to one so powerful as yourself, sir, never,' Sempra said rapidly, his beady eyes darting nervously from the revolving holo-image to the man hovering behind him. 'But I haven't seen this one, sir. No, sir, I'm sure of that.' He bowed a few more times, continuing to look panicky.  
  
'Of course not,' the commando said, still standing behind him and leaning over his shoulder. 'Of course you wouldn't lie to me. You know what I'd do to you if you did.'  
  
He straightened up, and then reached forward into the image, grasping the capsule. Fisher disappeared. With a quick look to his colleague, who had stationed herself by the entrance, he moved to leave, but paused in the doorway to throw the Pariekan a warning look over his shoulder.  
  
'But you'll let me know if you hear anything, won't you, Pariekan?' he added, his lip curling.  
  
'Oh, yes, sir, of course, sir,' Sempra said quickly, bowing repeatedly.  
'Of course, sir,' echoed the Peacekeeper with a smug smile, and then strode out of the workshop.  
  
Both the Pariekan and the ex-Peacekeeper remained still for a short while, allowing the commandos time to move further away. Satisfied that they were not about to try to catch him out, Sempra then moved purposefully over to the workbench and pushed it clear of the grille, all trace of his obsequious act gone; he pulled the grille up and Aeryn stood up again, stretching her legs, her face dark with anger.  
  
'You must leave, they'll come back soon,' he said to her quickly. 'Take my rider - that way you can outrun them.' He gestured towards the rusty vehicle and trailer that he had driven away from the pod.  
  
Aeryn blinked at him, once again surprised by his unexpected assistance. Suspicion in his case seemed unnecessary, though; he had taken a considerable risk in hiding her. She nodded to him in appreciation, as he reached a feathered hand down into the pit and helped to pull her out.  
  
'We still need a transport,' she said quickly, dusting herself off.  
The Pariekan shook his head with a smile.  
  
'I'm sorry, sir. Too easily traced. The rider's the best I can do for you.'  
'Why are you helping us at all?' Aeryn asked, frowning.  
  
Sempra grinned. 'Profit,' he said, rubbing his fingers together. 'My trade relies on fugitives. Peacekeepers are bad for business.'  
  
She gave him a quick smile; a nice, simple, mercenary motive that prompted no further suspicions. Sempra's face darkened a little, however, as he glanced around the workshop.  
  
'And I don't like spies,' he added in a low voice.  
  
Aeryn nodded her assent, her chin rising as her resolve hardened.  
  
'What will you do?' Sempra asked.  
  
Aeryn smiled coldly, as if the answer was obvious.  
  
'Kill that little tralk,' she said, and ducked out into the windswept yard.  
  
  
***  
  
  
'I don't know what you expect me to say.' D'Argo had struggled back into an upright position, and was now propped up against the back wall, being careful to avoid putting his weight on the injured shoulder. Crichton was seated on the ledge next to him, although he leapt up from time to time to pace, and wave his arms around in wild frustration. D'Argo wished he possessed similar mobility, so he could seize Crichton by the shoulders and shake him till he saw sense.  
  
'Well, I don't know, D'Argo,' Crichton said slowly and irritably, as if speaking to a particularly stupid child. 'I mean, I've only had the best piece of news I've heard since I came through the wormhole. I've only found someone I can talk to who understands what I'm saying, who doesn't have to have everything explained to them because it's just more of John's dumb, stupid, pathetic Human crap. Hell, D'Argo, what could I possibly expect after that? That you might be, uh, I don't know, happy for me?'  
  
D'Argo started slightly as Crichton spat out the final words furiously.  
  
'John,' he said softly, placatingly. 'I will be, I promise you. When we can be certain.'  
  
'What do you want her to do, take the Pepsi challenge?' Crichton fired back.  
  
D'Argo looked up at him blankly.  
  
'Oh, ah, no, what am I saying? Would that be more of John's stupid Human crap?' Crichton was staring at D'Argo despairingly, the raw anger spilling over. He lifted a foot up onto the shelf and leaned in towards D'Argo, resting an arm on his bent raised leg and breathing deeply, trying to regain some control.  
  
'She understands, D'Argo,' he said in a low voice, gazing into his friend's anxious eyes and flinging out an arm behind him, pointing towards the small figure sitting silently at the other end of the pod, watching the storm with her head bowed. 'She knows what I'm talking about, she knows things she couldn't possibly know, about me, about Earth...' He trailed off, his eyes closing in frustration.  
  
'Nothing is impossible, John,' D'Argo said sadly.  
  
Crichton's eyes snapped open again, and he leaned even further forward, grabbing hold of the edges of D'Argo's torn tunic and pulling him slightly closer, his lips pressed together, but twitching, struggling to hold back the angry words. But the fury that blazed in his eyes dissipated as he saw his friend's sorrowful face, the flicker of pain in his eyes; he felt the Luxan warrior force himself to relax, to ignore the instinct to fight back when attacked. He lowered D'Argo back down to the seat, letting go of the tunic and smoothing it where he'd scrunched the cloth between his fists. Then he took a step backwards and hung his head, avoiding D'Argo's eyes.  
  
'She knows, D'Argo,' he murmured, forcing his head up. 'She's telling the truth.'  
  
'No, Crichton, she isn't.'  
  
Crichton spun round at the unexpected voice, just in time to see the butt of Aeryn's pistol connect with the side of Fisher's head and knock her, unconscious, to the floor.  
  
  
***  
  
  
'Crichton, I am sorry.'  
  
'But you told me so, right?' he said bitterly.  
  
Crichton was slumped on the floor at D'Argo's feet, watching Aeryn listlessly, a defeated look on his face. She grunted as she rolled Fisher over onto her front, having fixed the handcuffs behind her back now for added security. Fisher was still out cold, and from the red swollen lump on her temple, it looked like she was going to stay that way for a while.  
  
'John, no-one is taking any pleasure in this,' D'Argo said gently.  
  
A bleak laugh floated up from the floor.  
  
'Oh, I'll bet Scorpy is. I'll bet ol' Scorpy's laughing so hard his goddamned teeth are falling out.'  
  
Crichton leaned his head back against the ledge behind him and closed his eyes, willing himself to sink through the floor of the pod and disappear. Because it was nice, just for a moment, to believe...Jeez, Aeryn, how wrong can you be?  
  
'He's going to carry on laughing, John, if we don't get moving,' Aeryn said, moving swiftly across the pod to crouch before him. She leaned in close, her hair falling forward and brushing against his knee as she twisted it up into a high ponytail, glancing up at D'Argo for suggestions. D'Argo merely shook his head a fraction, looking down at them both with concern.  
  
Crichton's face had twisted into a warped smile; he was laughing again, that slightly deranged throaty giggle, but his eyes were shiny with tears and he was shaking his head, staring past her unseeingly.  
  
'John,' she said, reaching up to grasp his jaw and reposition his head so he was facing her. His eyes slid sideways, looking past her again. Glancing over her shoulder, she followed his gaze to the unconscious figure on the floor.  
  
'John, look at me,' Aeryn said, turning back to him. Her voice had a harder edge to it, but she had kept her hand on his face and now ran her thumb softly along his dusty cheekbone, bringing his eyes up to her face.  
  
'Now you listen to me,' she said, in the same firm yet gentle tones. 'There is a Marauder in the city, and there are five commandos looking for us. We have to get off this planet before they find us or we are all as good as dead. All of us, John. D'Argo's hurt. I need your help.'  
  
He kept on looking at her with a little-boy-lost expression, then his eyes flicked guiltily away.  
  
'I said, I need you,' Aeryn said, even softer, pulling his eyes back to her again. 'I can't do this without your help.'  
  
Crichton blinked at her a few times, and then reached up to grasp the hand that rested on his face and squeeze it. He cleared his throat, but stayed silent, unable to find words that would come close to encompassing his feelings.  
'John, we...' she began.  
  
'...don't have enough time,' he finished for her, forcing his mouth into something resembling a smile. 'Just like always.'  
  
He breathed deeply, then, giving her hand a final squeeze, he scrambled to his feet. There was a lot to be said, a lot to be dealt with, but it could wait. It would have to.  
  
'What do you say we hit the road, Jack?'  
  
Aeryn narrowed her eyes at him, opening her mouth to ask and then thinking better of it, seeing Crichton's head tilt to one side in exhausted frustration.  
'Yes, let's...hit the road,' she said, uncertainly.  
  
Crichton's blue eyes widened in amazement briefly, and then he shot her a grateful smile, and headed towards the rider outside.  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
Aeryn killed the rider's engine and glanced anxiously around Sempra's yard, drawing the scarf closer around her face for protection from both the dust, and any unwelcome prying eyes. They seemed to have returned undetected, though; the various figures she could see over the wall were concentrating on putting the torn drapes and covers back around their weather-beaten stalls, and had taken no notice of the vehicle. She jumped from the driving seat quickly anyway, aware that the scarf concealed her face, but not her uniform. Edging along behind the rider, she tugged at the heavy tarp that had been draped over the trailer.  
  
'Are we there yet, Mom?' whispered Crichton, poking out his head from under the cover.  
  
'Get out, Crichton,' Aeryn replied, ignoring his question and scanning the horizon.   
  
He grunted assent, and flipped himself over the edge of the trailer, dropping softly into a crouch beside her and looking around as she was. He tilted his head to one side, noting the way the rider had been slotted neatly in alongside the various heaps of rusting metal that cluttered Sempra's yard.  
  
'Nice parking,' he commented, earning a withering look from Aeryn.  
  
The tarp rustled, and then D'Argo's face appeared, peeking out over the side of the trailer.  
  
'Stay where you are, D'Argo,' Aeryn said quickly; it had been a struggle getting him onto the trailer, and the rough terrain of the journey to the outpost could not have helped his injury.  
  
D'Argo shook his head firmly. 'I'm coming with you,' he said, pulling the tarp back further.  
  
'We've been through this...' Aeryn began, before Crichton hissed suddenly, and reached up an arm to push D'Argo's head down under the tarp. Crichton pulled his own head in, crouching even lower, before looking up at Aeryn.  
  
'Company,' he murmured, reaching down and drawing his weapon out from under his coat. She stiffened, and did the same. They stayed absolutely still and silent for a long moment, as footsteps drew up to the low wall that skirted Sempra's yard, and low voices floated through the swirling winds.  
  
'We've searched the whole of this outpost, sir,' came a female voice, sounding rather ragged and tired. 'If she was here, we would have found her.'  
  
'Any word from the other group?' This speaker was male, and he sounded displeased by this news.  
  
'Communications are still out, sir. We have just over an arn left before we're due to rendezvous.'  
  
'Then we have plenty of time to take this place apart all over again, don't we?' came the grimly satisfied reply.  
  
Then came sounds of ripping material, breaking wood, and the screams and whimpers of terrified villagers, as their attempts to restore the outpost to normality were systematically torn apart once again.  
  
Crichton gritted his teeth at the sound, risking a glance over the side of the trailer. The sight of the traders and fugitives cowering helplessly before the two Peacekeepers sickened him, and he turned to Aeryn at once, his mouth already set.  
  
'What do you say, Aeryn. Two on two? Better odds than we usually get.'  
'And we do need a transport,' she added, raising her eyebrows and turning her head to glance over her shoulder at the Marauder.  
  
Crichton grinned, tickled by the idea.  
  
'Three on two,' mumbled D'Argo, thrusting his head groggily back out from under the tarp.  
  
This time, it was Aeryn who reached up to shove him back out of sight.  
  
'Forget it, D'Argo, you still need to rest.'  
  
'And we need somebody to babysit, in case sleeping beauty decides to wake up.' Crichton nodded towards the other lumpy figure under the tarp.  
  
'Then hurry up,' D'Argo grunted, 'it smells worse than Pariekan kmelt under here.'  
  
Aeryn gave Crichton a quick nod, and then bobbed her head up and down quickly; seeing that their path was clear, she slipped out from behind the trailer and ran swiftly towards the low wall that overlooked the market stalls, beckoning to Crichton to follow her. They kept low, ducking behind the piles of junk for cover, and dropping to their knees when they reached the wall to remain hidden. As they ran, the sounds of destruction continued, as the two commandos worked their way slowly down the lines of stalls opposite them.   
  
Crichton crawled alongside the wall for a few feet on his hands and knees, and then sneaked a look; the female Peacekeeper was standing with her arms folded, watching a tear-streaked young male of roughly Sebacean origin turn his own stall over, scattering his pots and trinkets in the dirt. A number of them remained unbroken, and she ordered a small boy who had been lurking in the shadows forward, instructing him to smash what remained.  
  
Crichton turned his head quickly to Aeryn, and, before she had time to even nod her agreement, he was standing up, stepping up onto the wall, and launching himself at the commando. He tackled her around the shoulders and knocked her to the ground, pinning her there; he felt her body go limp underneath him at once, though, and when he looked up he could see blood seeping from a deep gash in her head, where she had struck the edge of the overturned stall.  
  
Before he had time to savour the irony, a sharp scream from his right pulled his head round sharply. Through the swirling dust, he saw a huddle of traders being pushed out of the way to give the other Peacekeeper a clear view of him; the commando was bringing his pulse pistol up as he headed directly for him, a fierce light burning in his eyes.  
  
Crichton struggled to push himself back off the sprawling figure beneath him and onto his knees, gripping his own pistol tightly with relief that he had not lost it in the jump. He raised his arm, took careful aim, and pulled on the trigger.  
Nothing happened.  
  
He pulled the trigger again. Same result.  
  
'Oh, crap,' he breathed, his blue eyes opening wide as the male Peacekeeper stopped a few feet away and prepared to fire.  
  
'Hey!' came a loud voice from over his left shoulder. 'I don't think so,' said Aeryn Sun firmly from on top of the wall, her rifle raised.  
  
The Peacekeeper looked up, startled, in time to meet her eyes as she pulled the trigger.  
  
Nothing happened.  
  
'Oh, crap,' she muttered, her grip on the rifle shaking very slightly as the commando gave her a hollow smile and returned his gaze to Crichton.  
  
For a split second Crichton wondered if he would have time to launch himself into another tackle, but the Peacekeeper had lifted his arm to fire before he could move. Instinctively, Crichton clenched his eyes shut, and he started involuntarily as a shot rang out. His eyes stayed closed tight for a few seconds, and then a thud and a sudden extra faceful of dust brought them open again; in front of him, the Peacekeeper lay flat on his back, a small section of the uniform over his chest smouldering slightly.  
  
He rocked back on his heels for a moment, his hands running over his own chest just to make sure his apparent lack of injury was not merely due to shock, but he was unharmed. His mouth was still open when Aeryn jumped down from the wall behind him and hauled him to his feet with a smile; he gazed at her, bewildered, and then looked over her shoulder into Sempra's yard. Sitting up awkwardly, his Qualta blade drawn and resting on the side of the trailer for extra support, was D'Argo, a broad if pained grin on his face. Crichton gaped, then grinned back, offering D'Argo a quick salute of thanks.  
  
'Time to go, wouldn't you say, Commander?' Aeryn's brows were raised in amusement at his shocked face.  
  
Crichton looked down at the useless, empty pistol in his hand. 'Guess we should have stocked up on Chakan oil a little sooner, huh?' he said, swallowing.  
  
They hopped over the wall and hurried back to the rider, pulling the tarp back fully, much to D'Argo's relief. Sprawled next to him was Fisher, arms still bound behind her, and still out cold. D'Argo hauled himself out of the trailer, grunting in pain and having to allow Aeryn to help him steady himself as his feet hit the ground; he paused, catching his breath, and then jerked his head towards the unconscious figure.  
  
'What do we do with her?' he said.  
  
'We're bringing her with us,' said Aeryn, quickly. D'Argo frowned at her, puzzled, but she cut him off with a shake of her head. 'She sent some kind of transmission to tell them she'd found us. She must have known how to contact them, which means she might know where the nearest base or Command Carrier is.'  
  
'Which she can tell us...' D'Argo began, a smile creeping across his features.  
  
'...And we can go in the opposite direction,' Aeryn finished, also smiling.  
  
Crichton looked uncomfortable, but nodded, and moved around to the end of the trailer. He grabbed Fisher's ankle, and then pulled her towards him and flipped her up onto his shoulders in a fireman's lift. Aeryn looked at him uncertainly, expecting some protest, but he set off towards the Marauder without a word.  
  
'Let's get out of here before those other commandos come back,' she muttered, drawing D'Argo's right arm across her shoulder to support him, and following.  
  
They made it halfway, before the storm suddenly seemed to pick up, and the swirls of dust became almost totally blinding. The small group paused, coughing in the dirt and struggling to keep their feet. Then the dust cleared a little, the wind died down, and Aeryn's eyes opened wide. It wasn't the storm blowing dust in their eyes. It was a ship landing. A Prowler.  
  
'You were saying?' D'Argo murmured, trying to pick up the pace.  
  
Crichton was a few feet ahead, and was trying to run towards the Marauder and turn around to warn her simultaneously. He slipped, almost falling, but somehow managing to stay on his feet as he sped towards the entrance of the larger ship, cursing himself for not having picked up one of the fallen Peacekeepers' weapons. But there would be weapons in the hold of the Marauder, if he could just make it that far...  
  
A whining sound from the rear of the Prowler indicated the opening hatch. Just a few more feet...  
  
Aeryn and D'Argo had fallen behind, the wounded Luxan's weight pulling them back. He sank to his knees, breathing heavily.  
  
'Go on without me,' he gasped, falling forward onto his hands. 'Defend yourself.'  
  
Aeryn shook her head and reached down, pulling D'Argo's heavy Qualta blade from his back and converting it rapidly into the firing position.  
  
'Crichton, get down!' she yelled, looking up and seeing that he would not have time to make it into the ship. He obeyed instantly, flinging himself face down in the dirt, throwing Fisher forward as he did so.   
  
Aeryn fired a warning shot over the Prowler. 'Throw down your weapon, Peacekeeper!' she barked, moving forward to make sure that Crichton was covered.  
  
There was silence, and then a scared-looking white head peeped out from the rear of the Prowler.  
  
'Is that any way to treat the rescue party?' Chiana called breathlessly, her arms raised up, her small face breaking into a smile.  
  
Crichton's head came up from the floor at her voice, and he let out a chuckle of relief, rolling onto his back. D'Argo too managed to lift his head, and gave the Nebari a heartfelt look of thanks before sinking back down to the ground.  
  
Aeryn gave Chiana a dazzling smile, the blade in her hands lowering. Then she blinked, frowned, and lifted the blade up into the firing position again.  
  
'What the hezmana are you doing in my Prowler?' she bellowed.  
  
  
***  
  
  
'Oh no,' breathed Zhaan, her eyes widening as she stared in horror at the viewscreen.  
  
'Zhaan!' Pilot said, in an alarmed voice.  
  
'I see it, Pilot,' Zhaan answered in a grim voice, swallowing as the Marauder's image grew larger. 'Do we have time to Starburst?'  
  
Pilot's arms moved over his console quickly, his eyes running rapidly over the controls.  
  
'What about Chiana?' said Rygel, in a slow, anxious voice that he rarely used.  
  
Zhaan glared at him, not with anger but sorrow; she turned her head back to Pilot's image, hoping he would make the decision for her. He was looking up; raising an arm; opening his mouth to speak...  
  
A voice burst over the comms.  
  
'Hey hey, Blue, pizza boy's here!'  
  
'Crichton!' said Pilot in surprise.  
  
'I give you: The Marauder! Sebacean, Luxan, Human and extra cheese - no olives - on a twelve inch thin and crispy, with a little Nebari on the side...'  
  
Zhaan laughed out loud as she ran out of the Command and headed for the docking bay, knowing there was no need to give Pilot further instruction.  
  
  
***  
  
  
Zhaan started slightly as the doors of the docking bay slid back, the view that greeted her not being entirely as she had expected. Crichton was half-carrying D'Argo, who was clearly having to make some effort to stand even with his support. Aeryn, whose face was bruised, was dragging an unconscious stranger, her hands bound, roughly across the floor; Chiana was following her, the pulse rifle in her hands trained on the stranger and a fiercely determined look on her face. The Nebari was looking a little ruffled and windswept, but otherwise much as she had when she left; the other four, however, were coated head to toe in some kind of powdery red grime.  
  
The Delvian took all this in with a swift glance; before she could open her mouth to speak, though, she saw D'Argo's eyes sliding closed, and ran forward to catch him before he fell. She slipped under his free arm and drew it across her shoulders as Crichton was doing, looking him over anxiously.  
  
'What happened?' she said, quickly, looking up at Crichton and noticing that he too looked to have been through some kind of ordeal.  
  
Crichton shook his head, slightly breathless from carrying D'Argo.  
  
'Argument with exploding transport pod,' he spluttered out.  
  
'Looks like D'Argo lost,' grunted Rygel, hovering on the other side of the bay. He directed his chair over to the group as they made their slow progress across the chamber, screwing up his face with disgust as he came closer.  
  
'Who is that?' he said, jabbing a pudgy finger towards Fisher. 'Why did you bring her on board?'  
  
Zhaan turned her head to look, and frowned as she saw the stranger's uniform.  
  
'John, isn't that...?' she began, but trailed off as she saw something dark flicker across his eyes.  
  
Rygel leaned in closer, gripping tightly to his thronesled with both hands and feet as he hovered over the inert form being dragged along the floor.  
  
'Urgh!' he squealed, suddenly pulling the chair back. 'Another Human? I thought the uncharted territories had only been cursed with one of his primitive species. Why couldn't you have brought another Hynerian? He would make a real contribution to this crew.'  
  
'We got enough helium on board, Ryge,' Chiana muttered, prodding him out of her way with the butt of the rifle. 'Two of you and Moya might spontaneously combust.'  
  
'And she isn't Human,' added Aeryn, still hauling Fisher along the floor. 'Pilot, activate the cell door functions on tier eight.'  
  
'Aeryn, if she has been injured, I must treat her,' Zhaan said, troubled by the rough way in which the stranger was being manhandled into the corridor. She glanced again at Crichton, but his eyes were fixed on some distant point ahead of them.  
  
'D'Argo's hurt, treat him.'  
  
'I will, of course,' Zhaan answered, stung by Aeryn's harsh tone. 'But all the same...'  
  
'Fine, Zhaan, do whatever it is you feel you have to do,' Aeryn called, backing away from her with Fisher in tow, heading into one of the other corridors. 'But you'll have to do it from inside her cell. And you might want to wait until after I've finished the interrogation; save you wasting your time.' She disappeared from view.  
  
'Wow,' said Chiana, a grin sweeping across her small face. 'Now that I've got to see.' She hurried after them.  
  
'Aeryn!' Zhaan shouted, her brow furrowed with anxiety. Getting no response, she turned to Crichton, expecting him to be equally distressed by Aeryn's intentions, but his eyes were still distant.  
  
'John?' she said softly, wondering if he had even heard.  
  
'Let's get D'Argo up to the medlab, Zhaan,' he said quietly, not looking at her as he shifted the Luxan's weight on his shoulders and steered the three of them through the doorway.  
  
  
***  
  
  
'She is conscious,' Zhaan said unhappily, rising from her knees and gathering together the selection of phials and concoctions she had brought down from her pharmacy. Fisher lay stretched out on the floor before her, a healing pad taped to her temple where Aeryn's weapon had struck her. Zhaan had insisted that the restraints be removed now that she was captive in a cell, and had treated the bruised and chafed wrists they had left with mixed feelings. Aeryn had given her some vague indications of what had happened down on the planet, and she had been shocked by how quickly her old dark instincts had threatened to resurface and overwhelm her. Yet, despite what this impostor had done, she could not embrace what Aeryn was proposing; she had spent too long as a prisoner of the Peacekeepers herself. Learning to live with one had not been easy, and seeing how rapidly Aeryn was able to slot back into her old role, even in defence of Crichton, chilled her.  
  
Aeryn gave her a cold look as she left the cell, stepping forward to run her hand over the door control to close it behind her. Zhaan returned the icy gaze, knowing full well that no words of hers could alter this situation. Turning her head slightly, she saw Crichton lingering in the shadows behind Aeryn, his arms crossed across his chest as if he were hugging himself, and felt a flicker of guilt; he had obviously been deeply hurt by the lie this woman had told.   
'I will check on D'Argo,' she said shortly, unable to resolve her conflicting feelings. She stalked off down the corridor, almost bumping into Chiana as she did so. The Nebari had evidently gone to groom herself, since she was restored to her usual impeccable appearance, but it seemed the allure of watching Aeryn in action had not faded. Chiana's eyes were bright with anticipation, her irrepressible chuckle also making a comeback. Zhaan shook her head in frustration at the youngster, then hurried away to see to the Luxan.  
  
Chiana ignored the Delvian's admonitory glance and grinned happily at Crichton and Aeryn as she joined them. She peered into the cell and noted with pleasure that the prisoner within had opened her eyes, and was struggling to sit up.  
'Looks like I got here just in time,' the Nebari said, her smile widening. She tilted her head at Aeryn. 'So, when's the fun going to start?'  
  
'Yo, Pip. Knock it off,' said Crichton, stepping out of the shadows and giving her a dark look.  
  
'Aw, c'mon, Crichton. Don't tell me you're not going to enjoy this just a little bit?' Chiana smiled impishly, but Crichton's expression only darkened all the more, his eyes narrowing as he regarded her, warning her.  
'I mean it, Pip,' he said, firmly, his voice low and husky. 'You keep out of this, or you get the hell out of here.'  
  
She opened her mouth as if to protest, and then thought better of it and plumped herself down onto the floor, folding her legs under her and mumbling to herself.  
'We're not here for pleasure, Chiana, we're here for information,' Aeryn added, and then turned her attention to the cell.  
  
'Get up!' she shouted, again adopting the tone of voice that she had learned from numerous commanding officers.  
  
Fisher started, her head snapping up; she had been rubbing her eyes and gingerly feeling the dressing on her head, and was clearly still disoriented despite Zhaan's ministrations. Now her eyes widened as she took in the situation.  
'I said, get up!' Aeryn shouted, even louder this time. She was standing in her standard aggressive posture: feet slightly apart, back straight, chin up, arms at her sides. Now she let her hand drop as if casually to rest on the pulse pistol that was strapped to her leg. The Marauder had provided more than just transport; this weapon definitely contained a full cartridge.   
  
Fisher's eyes followed and noted the gesture, understanding its purpose; she scrambled to her feet with difficulty and swayed for a moment, one hand instinctively reaching up slightly, preparing to catch herself if she fell. Aeryn felt Crichton tense beside her, and inwardly cursed him for choosing to stay for this. She herself had been an enemy of the Peacekeepers for long enough to feel uncomfortable about many of her prior actions, and she was unsure how far she would be able to carry through her threat of a damaging interrogation. With Crichton there, she certainly wouldn't, she thought to herself, wondering dimly if he had chosen to stay for precisely that reason. It would be just like him to try to protect his enemy. She breathed deeply, her mind straying further to consider what exactly his presence said about what he thought of her; what he thought her still capable of, and was surprised to find how distressed that possibility made her. Once she would have been proud to have been thought of that way; now it sickened her.  
  
She realised she was allowing her concentration to drift, and pulled herself back to the moment quickly, shifting the position of her feet very slightly, lifting her chin a fraction higher. She felt Crichton's eyes on her, noticing her stiffening posture, and wondered again what he was thinking. But she blinked the thoughts away, focusing on her captive again.  
  
Fisher was gazing around her, examining the way the cell was constructed, the criss-crossed gold bars of the doors, the arcing ribs which formed the walls, the pipe-like tubing that ran around the wall like a low shelf. The cell was otherwise empty; it was the same one Crichton and Aeryn had been placed in when they had first been brought aboard - a fact which had not escaped either of them. She swayed slightly again, and then stared out at Crichton, her eyes wide.  
  
'I'm on your ship?' she said, her voice sounding croaky. 'I'm on board the Leviathan?'  
  
'Name, rank, and regiment,' said Aeryn, coldly.  
  
Fisher looked at her distractedly, as if confused by the question. 'What? No, no, you don't understand...'  
  
'Name, rank, and regiment,' Aeryn repeated robotically.  
  
Fisher blanked her, and turned her attention to Crichton. 'You don't understand. I'm not what you think, Crichton. You have to listen to me...'  
'I don't have to listen to anything that you have to say,' Crichton said slowly, his voice low but filled with bitterness.   
  
Chiana looked up at his back, her lips parting in impressed surprise. Aeryn's eyes widened at the menace there was in his tone. Fisher shook her head quickly, and then closed her eyes, putting a hand up to her forehead. She blinked her eyes open again.  
  
'We don't have time for this, Crichton,' she said. 'You have to trust me.'  
  
Aeryn laughed sarcastically, glancing at Crichton; he was scratching his head pointedly, clearing his throat exaggeratedly and even managing a faint smile at the absurdity of it all.  
  
'Trust you?' he said, wearily. 'Sorry, sister, but from now on I'm taking the Fox Mulder tack on that one, OK? Just start talking. And if you could maybe swing by the truth sometime while you're doing it, that would be great - assuming you know what 'truth' is.'  
  
Fisher swallowed hard, looking slightly taken aback, and then looked him firmly in the eye.  
  
'You want the truth? OK: there's a Command Carrier somewhere in this area, and it's looking for you. And it's going to find you, if you don't get me off this ship.' She paused, her eyes flitting between the two of them, and then frowned. 'Are we still in the planet's orbit? Still in range of the Borium storm?'  
  
Aeryn and Crichton said nothing, their faces blank.  
  
Fisher sighed, her shoulders drooping. 'Look, you have to listen to me. I can help you, I can save you, but you have to get me off this ship. It's me they're following.'  
  
Aeryn and Crichton exchanged amused looks.  
  
'Oh, I get it,' Crichton said mock-secretively out of the corner of his mouth, his eyes still flicking across to Aeryn's. 'We keep her prisoner here, we're all gonna die. The only way to get out of this is...to let her go! Convincing, huh?'  
  
'Oh, very,' Aeryn replied, mockingly.  
  
'Listen to me!' said Fisher, sounding more angry than afraid. 'Where do you think that Marauder came from? And how did it know where to look for me? If this ship has moved out of that storm, then right now I'm sending that Command Carrier a transmission which gives them my exact location. When they see it's coming from inside a Leviathan, they'll move in and take you all.'  
  
'Transmission? How could you send them a transmission from inside that cell?' Crichton demanded.  
  
'Because the Peacekeepers planted an Alkan transmitter at the base of my brain,' Fisher replied in a defeated voice, looking warily at Aeryn.  
  
Crichton blinked, bewildered, and looked at Aeryn. Her face was stern but thoughtful as she contemplated Fisher. Feeling Crichton's eyes on her, though, she realised he was unfamiliar with the term.  
  
'An Alkan transmitter is an implant powered by electric impulses in the brain,' she said slowly, as if remembering the definition from a textbook. 'It emits a continuous long-range pulse signal, on a unique frequency, so that the bearer can be located and identified wherever they are.'  
  
Crichton processed the idea rapidly. 'Like a personal Paddack beacon, right?'  
  
Aeryn nodded. 'They're usually used on high-profile prisoners in case of escape. But there's no reason why they shouldn't be used on spies; that way, they can still perform their function even if they're captured. It makes sense.'  
  
'I'm not a spy,' Fisher said in a low, angry voice. 'Not the way you think, anyway.' She regarded them through lowered brows, sullenly.  
  
'So why the sudden change of heart? Why tell us this now?' Crichton's blue eyes were cold, diamond-hard.  
  
Fisher sighed, her eyes fixed on a point on the ground.  
  
'Crichton,' she said, through gritted teeth, 'There isn't time for this. But I swear to you, there is a Command Carrier in this area, and it must be minutes away from discovering you. If you keep me on board, they will find you.'  
  
Crichton pursed his lips, thinking quickly. He cast a sideways look at Aeryn; saw that she was doing much the same.  
  
'Pilot,' he called into his comms, his eyes half closed. 'Any sign of the big bad wolf?'  
  
'Assuming you are referring to the Peacekeepers, Commander Crichton, then no. There are no ships in our immediate area.'  
  
'Well, well,' said Crichton exaggeratedly, stepping forward so that he was almost touching the criss-crossed grille of the cell door. 'Maybe Little Red Riding Hood here isn't such a hot priority as she thinks.' He stared at Fisher, his eyes still icy and unblinking, his lips still pressed together.  
  
'Or maybe that Command Carrier she's talking about doesn't exist at all,' added Aeryn in the same mocking tones, a predatory smile on her face as she too stepped closer to the cell doors.  
  
Fisher took a half-step backwards, her frightened eyes flitting between the two cold, unwavering faces that stared her down. She shook her head slowly, her mouth opening and then closing again before she could muster words.   
  
Chiana writhed on the floor, leaning sideways to see past Crichton's back, unfurling one leg from underneath her to raise her up slightly. Things had started to get interesting, and she didn't want to miss one bit.  
  
Slowly, very slowly, Crichton began to raise his hand towards the door control. A single brush with his palm would open it. Out of the corner of her eye, Aeryn saw the movement, and tensed, preparing herself; from the look on his face, she thought, she had misunderstood his decision to stay for the interrogation. Chiana also saw the movement, and her mouth opened with an excited gasp. Staring her down as he was, Crichton knew that Fisher could see it too; she was backing away still further, shaking her head again, her eyes filled with fear.  
  
The knot of bitter anger that had been coiled in his stomach ever since Aeryn's revelation seemed to move up to his throat; he swallowed around it, feeling suddenly stifled by the depth of his hatred for the small, defenceless figure before him. It wasn't right, what he was thinking, what was happening here; not in Earth terms. But this wasn't Earth. What he'd been put through didn't happen on Earth, couldn't have. He was tired of fighting fair, doing the right thing, living up to some ridiculous noble ideal that meant nothing here. It was time to fight fire with fire. He was almost glad of the knot that clogged his throat, holding back the torrent of anger that seemed to be swelling inside him at the prospect of release. Once he started to let it loose, he wasn't sure he'd be able to stop. He raised his hand up to the door control.  
  
'John!' came a breathless voice from down the corridor, and he turned his head a fraction to see Zhaan racing towards him, her blue robes billowing behind her. 'John, wonderful news!'  
  
She slowed down and came to a stop at his shoulder, laying a hand on his arm as she regained her breath. Her cheeks were shiny with tears but there was a light in her eyes, and he looked down at her in confusion. She gave him a dazzling smile as she gulped in another breath, and then turned her head to Fisher, her elation dimming slightly.  
  
'My dear,' she said softly, her head slightly bowed. 'I am so sorry for having doubted you.'  
  
'Zhaan,' Aeryn broke in sharply. 'What the frell are you on about?' Her bewildered and slightly irritated expression was echoed by Crichton and Chiana, who both stared at the Delvian.  
  
Zhaan smiled, and looked into Crichton's eyes warmly.  
  
'She wasn't lying, John. I tested some samples I took when I treated her. She's Human.'  
  
  
***  
  
  
'John? Did you hear me?'   
  
Crichton seemed to be staring at Fisher, but he saw nothing; his eyes had glazed over completely, and the only sensation he was even dimly aware of was a rushing noise in his ears. He was vaguely conscious that the knot in his throat seemed to have expanded, and that he seemed to have stopped breathing; for a brief moment it seemed as if time itself had stopped. But then he felt a hand squeezing his arm, gently, and snapped back to reality in time to realise that he was swaying on his feet, and if he didn't mentally kick himself up the butt he was going to land on it. He reached out a hand instinctively, grabbing one of the bars of the cell like a drunken sailor who had found neither his land-legs nor his sobriety, and forced his eyes to focus. They met Fisher's. He snapped them shut again, and gripped the cell bar tighter.  
  
Fisher stayed absolutely still, her face slightly flushed, her chin tilted towards the floor. She said nothing.  
  
'Zhaan, that's impossible,' Aeryn began, her mind flicking back to the revolving holo-image she'd seen while hiding in Sempra's workshop, but the Delvian cut her off.  
  
'I assure you, Aeryn, it is true,' Zhaan replied sharply, her discovery making Aeryn's threats seem even more distasteful to her. 'I used two separate samples, and I tested them both three times.' She turned her attention to trying to rouse Crichton from the trance-like state he seemed to be in.  
  
Aeryn narrowed her eyes, thinking quickly and taking care not to look at Crichton; the turmoil he was no doubt feeling would only distract her.  
  
'Genetic manipulation,' she said, lifting her chin and smiling grimly as the thought struck her. 'The Peacekeepers must have samples of Human DNA from Crichton. If they went to the trouble to instruct her well enough to convince him, they would have altered her DNA too - it would be the closest to proof she could get.'  
  
Aeryn felt little enough sense of triumph at finding an explanation, and even that dissolved as Zhaan shook her head.  
  
'I've found no evidence of any such genetic tampering. And if it were possible to do as you say without leaving a trace, she would be carrying Crichton's DNA. She is not. Her DNA is definitely Human, but it is different from Crichton's. There is only one possible explanation, Aeryn. She is also from Earth.'  
  
Somewhere, in a quiet corner of his mind, Crichton overheard the exchange and found a moment to be thankful that she hadn't called it 'Erp'. For a second, he smiled to himself, pleased that he had enough self-control and sanity left to be amused by such a small thing. Then he realised the absurdity of that thought. There was another Human here. She hadn't lied. There was another Human on board Moya and she was standing just a few feet from him...locked in a cell, waiting to be interrogated by him and his Peacekeeper Sundance. His stomach lurched and he swallowed hard, again steadying himself against the cell door as he forced his eyes to open.  
  
'Wait a second,' came a small but firm voice from behind him, as Chiana struggled to her feet. 'If she's another Human, how come she's trying to sell Crichton to the Peacekeepers?'  
  
Aeryn and Zhaan glanced at Chiana, and then at one another. Aeryn raised her eyebrows in interest; Zhaan frowned, nodding slightly. They both turned to look at Fisher, and then at Crichton; it was clear from the way he had raised his head and reopened his eyes that he was following the conversation around him, despite his silence.  
  
He cleared his throat, trying to work enough air into his lungs and enough moisture into his dry mouth to be able to speak.  
  
'You know what?' he said, hoarsely, 'That's a damn fine question.' There was no bitterness or anger in his tone, nor any warmth or sympathy; only exhaustion. His eyes, when he dared to let them meet Fisher's again, carried the same hollow weariness.  
  
She met his gaze without fear, and nodded slowly.  
  
'Yeah,' she said, an edge of tired sarcasm creeping into her voice, 'it is a damn fine question, Crichton. I mean, here I am, talking to the only other Human I'm ever going to see again in my entire life, and I try to sell him out. I try to hand him over to his greatest enemy. I'm willing to betray him, to betray my whole planet, just like that.'  
  
She raised her hand and snapped her fingers, in a gesture Aeryn, Zhaan and Chiana immediately recognised as Crichton's. When Fisher began to speak again, her eyes were filled with tears, and her voice was heavy with emotion.  
  
'Now why would I do that, Crichton? What is there out here that could possibly make me willing to do all that?'  
  
She stopped and stared into his eyes through a haze of tears. He stared back, his eyes narrowing slightly as he tried to fathom the meaning of her words. After no more than a few seconds an unwelcome thought flitted across his mind, and he pushed it aside quickly, but not quickly enough to keep it out of his eyes completely. He saw a flicker of recognition pass across Fisher's face, and her eyes slid away from his, ashamed. As she dropped her face to the floor and stared disconsolately into a corner, his lips parted in horrified understanding.  
  
'No,' he breathed, barely audibly, but there was no doubt in his mind. She was right; there was only one possible explanation, one he understood absolutely.  
  
'John?' came Aeryn's voice, softly questioning.  
  
He tore his eyes from the desolate figure in the cell to look at her. Aeryn's brow was wrinkled with concern and confusion in equal parts.   
  
'The Aurora chair,' he said quietly, turning back to look at Fisher. As he said the words her teary eyes flickered up to his in confirmation. Then they dropped to the floor again.  
  
Crichton was vaguely aware of the sharp intake of breath from all sides as he said the words. None of Moya's crew had forgotten Crichton's haunted, dishevelled appearance after his ordeal at the hands of Scorpius. He had told them little of what had happened beyond the barest details, but that fact in itself spoke volumes: there were few subjects on which the Human was so reticent. Keeping him from having to endure the unendurable was what kept them running; Crichton himself had little idea how deeply affected by his torture the rest of them had been. And now here was another Human, another victim of Scorpius' brutality...  
  
'But the chair was destroyed,' Aeryn said slowly, frowning. 'We blew it up when you flew the transport pod into the Gammak base.'  
  
Crichton shook his head slowly, his eyes still fixed on the forlorn figure of Fisher.  
  
'That chair is the only way Scorpius can get at what's inside my head. He was always going to build another one.'  
  
Aeryn nodded once; the question had been motivated by simple curiosity, not suspicion, and Crichton's answer sadly made perfect sense. She quickly realised that his attention was elsewhere, though, and stayed quiet.  
  
'What happened?' His voice was soft, but somehow strained; looking at his profile, Aeryn could see from the firm set of his jaw and the flare of his nostrils that he was struggling to maintain control.  
  
Fisher looked up from inside the cell, glancing nervously around at the four figures outside. All four pairs of eyes were now filled with sympathy and compassion, but she fixed her gaze to a spot on the floor; talking was hard enough. She swallowed, and began to speak, her voice breaking slightly.  
  
'It happened like I told you, back on Earth,' she said, glancing up briefly at Crichton before returning her eyes to the floor. 'But when I came through the wormhole there was a ship waiting on the other side. They picked me up, threw me in a cell. When they realised I wasn't lying about not understanding them they ran some tests. The second they found out I was Human they transferred me to a base down on some planet. Scorpius' base.'  
  
She paused, breathing deeply to calm herself, still avoiding their eyes.  
  
'I'd been on this side of the wormhole for three hours when they first put me in the chair. I didn't know where I was, what they wanted...Hell, after a few spins in that thing I couldn't have told you my own name.'  
  
She stopped again, shuddering inwardly at the memory. Crichton's eyes filled with tears, his stomach folding in half at the thought of it. His own experiences had been beyond what he thought he could endure, but he had been in this universe for months by then; he had at least had the chance to begin to adjust.  
  
'He found out pretty quickly I didn't know anything about creating wormholes. So then he just asked me about you.'  
  
She looked up at Crichton, who gulped, choking on his own tears. Seeing the hint of despair that crept into his already despondent eyes, Fisher shook her head quickly, his fear prompting her own tears back again.  
  
'I couldn't tell him much, John, not much more than he already knew,' she said rapidly, trying to reassure him. He nodded silently, a single tear running unnoticed down his cheek.  
  
'Once he was done with that,' she continued, her tone hardening again, 'he realised I had one other use: bait. He'd send me out into the uncharteds, with the Alkan transmitter so I couldn't get lost. They'd check up on me from time to time, and if they heard any rumours of Leviathans being sighted, they'd drop me off in the nearest system.'  
  
'And in return for trading Crichton in, you got to live?' It was Aeryn. She tried to keep her voice neutral - it was, after all, the kind of trade-off that people made every day without thinking - but failed to keep an edge of resentment out of it.  
  
Fisher laughed caustically, her mouth twisting into a bitter smile.  
  
'Live?' she said, mockingly. 'No, not live. I got to stay out of the chair, that's all. There are worse things than dying, Aeryn Sun.'  
  
Fisher's words hung in the air for a moment, none of them able to find a suitable response. In the quiet, Fisher's eyes again met Crichton's, and her sarcastic look was replaced by sorrow.  
  
'Crichton...I am sorry. Down on the planet, when I came to talk to you outside the pod...I knew they'd be coming. Even with the storms, I knew they'd pick me up eventually. When I saw it was you, I wanted to talk to you, just for a minute. I knew you'd want to know about your father, but...I just wanted to talk to another Human being again.'  
  
She trailed off, smiling helplessly, in spite of the tears; Crichton felt himself smiling too, as he felt the warmth that came from two people knowing that they understood one another perfectly, for the first time in far too long.  
  
'But it wasn't just that,' she said, swallowing guiltily. 'I was going to turn you in. If Scorpius found out I'd seen you and let you go...' She stopped, not needing to continue.  
  
'I understand.'  
  
She looked up at him, her eyes widening. She opened her mouth to speak, but he shook his head, silencing her apology.  
  
'I understand,' he said again, simply.  
  
Fisher gazed at him, reading his eyes, and then gave him a minute nod. They stayed still for a moment, both knowing there was far too much to be said.  
  
'Uh, I hate to cut in,' said Chiana, almost sounding like she meant it, 'but am I the only one who remembers that Command Carrier she was talking about?'  
Fisher blinked rapidly, and then nodded.  
  
'She's right,' she said breathlessly, fear creeping back into her eyes. 'I've been here too long already, Crichton. I have to go.'  
  
'The Marauder,' Aeryn said quickly. Fisher gave her a tiny smile, and stepped forward.  
  
The former Peacekeeper reached out her hand silently and ran it past the cell door control. With a faint noise the two wings of the door separated and slid outwards and upwards; Fisher walked through, pausing in front of Crichton, who had not moved and blocked her path. He was shaking his head still, his mouth firm.  
  
'That Marauder was following my signal,' she said, looking up at him pleadingly. 'When it doesn't report back, the Carrier will come to find out what happened - and if I'm on board it'll come straight here. Let me get away before it's too late.'  
  
He stayed where he was, his face half stubborn resolution, half despair. Aeryn reached up a hand to his arm, her fingertips barely brushing his sleeve.  
'John,' she said, softly. 'She's right.'  
  
She gave him a gentle push, and jerked her head at Fisher, motioning her forwards. Zhaan led the small group away down the corridor, towards the docking bay, Crichton being swept up along with them.  
  
'Pilot,' said Zhaan into her comms, as they walked. 'Any sign of a Peacekeeper vessel in the area yet?'  
  
There was a brief silence, before the comms buzzed back its answer.  
  
'Not currently. I will inform you at once of any such readings.'  
  
'Thank you, Pilot.'  
  
'Aw, c'mon,' said Crichton, pulling up and catching hold of Aeryn's sleeve. 'That buys us some time. There has to be another way out of this.'  
  
Aeryn shook him off angrily, and kept walking; he watched them move away from him for a moment, spluttered something incomprehensible to himself in frustration, and then followed, jogging for a few feet to catch up.  
  
'Can we at least talk about this? There could be options we haven't even thought of yet.'  
  
'We can't return to the Borium storm, John,' said Zhaan, sadly, turning her blue eyes on him in sympathy.  
  
Crichton sighed heavily, trying to force his overloaded mind to think clearly as he paced after them.  
  
'Fine,' he said. 'Then we remove the transmitter, blast it out into space. The Carrier keeps following the transmission, and by the time they figure it out, we're long gone.'  
  
They kept walking, Aeryn and Fisher exchanging a quick, knowing look; Crichton's shoulders sagged slightly as he saw Fisher shake her head.  
  
'Impossible,' said Aeryn, bleakly. 'Alkan transmitters cannot be removed once transplanted - not without killing the host.'  
  
Fisher glanced over her shoulder at him, a brief, gloomy nod confirming her words as the rounded another corner.  
  
'Why does it have to be removed?' came Chiana's voice; she had hung back in the group and was now walking level with Crichton, troubled by his cheerless expression. 'Moya Starbursts out of here, and even if there is a Command Carrier in the area, it won't matter. Even Scorpius can't chase us that far.'  
'Nice plan, Chi,' Crichton said, reaching across to high-five with the Nebari the way he'd taught her, the faintest spark of a smile starting to creep back into his eyes. She glowed with pleasure, but Aeryn was shaking her head, and Fisher was doing the same.  
  
'Won't work,' said Fisher firmly. 'Alkan transmitters are designed for long-range scans; they'll lose you while you're travelling through Starburst, and pick you up on the other side. And if they don't, another Peacekeeper patrol will, you can be sure of that.'  
  
Crichton's eyes widened slightly, disbelieving, but a quick glance at Aeryn killed his doubts. He sighed heavily, rubbing his tired eyes with still-dusty fingers. When he pulled them away he realised they were at the doors of the docking bay.  
  
Aeryn ran forward to prepare the Marauder, shouting instructions to Pilot as she did so. Zhaan was running her hands over her head and face, an inch from her skin, and then she reached forward and did the same to Fisher, her eyes closed in prayer. When the ritual was finished, she opened her eyes again and smiled warmly, trying to keep anxiety from her face.  
  
'May the goddess protect you, my dear,' the Delvian said, before backing away. Fisher gave her a smile, and then shot a quick look at Crichton, rolling her eyes in gently mocking amusement. Crichton's lips curled into a smile in spite of himself, and he put a hand up to his mouth, knowing how easy it would be for the giggle that bubbled under to turn into a sob.  
  
Chiana hovered for a moment, her mouth half open, head tilting from side to side, her body weaving in its familiar movement. Instead of her usual sly look, though, her eyes were uncertain. She gazed at Fisher for a few seconds, as if searching for the words, and then looked at Crichton, quietly waiting; then she simply nodded, her face serious. Fisher nodded back, the wry, entertained smile still loitering at the corner of her eye, and Chiana turned and walked after Zhaan, her head bowed.  
  
Fisher glanced out into the bay, seeing Aeryn emerging from the Marauder and lingering there, as if she had happened to find something very important to discuss with Moya's walls. Crichton followed the look, and smiled wanly, mentally thanking Aeryn for her perception. Then he turned to Fisher, fixing her with his eyes.  
  
'I'm sorry,' he said thickly, startled by how throaty his voice was. 'It's my fault you got pulled into all this...'  
  
Fisher shook her head quickly, a smile coming to her face.  
  
'None of this is your fault, Crichton, any more than it is mine.'  
  
Crichton was opening his mouth to disagree when Pilot's urgent voice echoed through the chamber, his image appearing in a viewer on the far side of the bay.  
'I apologise for the interruption, but sensors detect a Command Carrier heading this way. We will be within range of its weapons in...400 microts.'  
  
Crichton reached forward and grasped Fisher's upper arms, pulling her closer, his eyes suddenly determined again.  
  
'I can't let you leave like this,' he said rapidly. 'They're only after you because of me...'  
  
'You want Scorpius to know how to create a wormhole, John?' Fisher said, gazing up at him calmly. His lips parted, his grip on her arms loosening slightly.  
  
'You have a life out here, John; I never did.' Her face was still relaxed, the look of wry amusement still in her eyes. 'And if you don't let go of my arms, it's going to be really difficult to fly that Marauder.'  
  
He dropped his hands away, laughing weakly with tears pricking at his eyes. She stepped back, and then turned and headed into the bay, towards the Marauder.  
After a few feet she stopped, and looked back at him over her shoulder.  
  
'If you ever make it back, tell my family I was OK,' she said, meeting his blue gaze without wavering. 'That you saw me, and I was doing OK.'  
  
Crichton stared at her, the tears welling up again so he could barely see her face. He nodded his head once, and she gave him a feeble smile of acknowledgement. As she began to turn away, he called out, pulling her back.  
  
'Hey,' he croaked. 'You do the same for me, OK?'  
  
She laughed, the grin on her face making it clear how likely she thought that was. 'Sure,' she said, the grin fading slightly as she gazed at him for one last moment. Then she turned and walked away.  
  
'Don't hang around to see what happens,' she said quietly as she walked past Aeryn. 'Starburst the second I'm clear.' She paused, catching Aeryn's eye.  
  
Aeryn narrowed her eyes, still surprised by Fisher's willingness to trust her after what had passed between them. But this was another Human, she reminded herself; and another Human who was trying to protect the other, just as Crichton would. She drew herself upright, instinctively, as if about to salute, and nodded her head once at Fisher, acknowledging and accepting the responsibility. Fisher blinked, and then walked on towards the Marauder.  
  
Aeryn turned and hurried out of the bay, knowing that she would be needed in the Command if evasive manoeuvres were required. The door swung closed behind her to allow the docking bay vents to open; through it she heard the still-familiar sound of the Marauder, as it retracted its landing gear and began to power out of the bay, following the course that she had programmed into the navigational computer. She paused, wanting to say something to Crichton who was still standing, motionless, by the doors. Seeing the look on his face, however, she chose to leave him to his thoughts for the moment, and walked past him without speaking.  
  
'Pilot,' she called, as she crossed the chamber.  
  
'Preparing for immediate Starburst, Officer Sun,' came Pilot's sombre reply.  
  
The Marauder swooped away from the huge Leviathan, as the blue lights flickered over Moya's hull and swelled into one blinding flash. When the light dimmed, she was gone.  
  
  
  
  
  
[Wait! That can't be the end. What about the tear-jerking and slightly cheesy tag scene? Oh, wait, here it is...]  
  
  
  
  
  
The vast Leviathan glided smoothly through space dotted with nothing but stars. Moya's Starburst had taken them several days' travel away from the nearest system, a fact which the crew had received gratefully and with relief. The supplies they had been bargaining for on the dust planet were still needed, but after that particular close encounter, staying on board suddenly seemed strangely appealing.  
  
Moya's hull glowed gold, the tiny lights which she emitted from her numerous tiers sparking the stars into life and reflecting her own light back onto her. One light, atop the ship, glowed dimmer than the rest; if one had drawn in close to the huge ship one would have seen it was not one single light, but a number of even smaller ones, forming a minute oval on the ship's hull. Inside the oval was a tiny speck of black, and one would have needed to be almost nose to nose with the invisible shield that protected the terrace to have made out that the tiny speck was Crichton.  
  
He was stretched flat out on his back, arms hanging limply extended beside him, his feet falling loosely outwards. The long, dust-covered coat lay pooled around his inert form; he had not had the energy to take it off. He wasn't even sure how he'd found the strength to come up here; presumably the desire to be alone had been strong enough to get his legs working. But now his limbs felt like lead, his exhaustion pinning him to the floor. He would stay here forever, he thought, just watching the stars remind him how small he was. A tiny speck, on board a vast ship that was itself just a tiny speck in an endlessly vast universe. And in all that, she'd still wound up finding him...  
  
He closed his eyes, pushing the thoughts away again. Just the stars, he told himself; no thinking. Just look at the stars. When he opened them again he sensed movement behind him, and sighed inwardly. Whoever it was, they would be trying to help, he knew that; but he didn't want help. He didn't want to talk. He wanted to run away and make like an ostrich, bury his head in the biggest pile of sand he could find and stay there. Permanently.  
  
Only there wasn't any sand on Moya, and he was pretty damn sure an ostrich impression was going to make them worry about him all the more.  
  
Reluctantly, he opened his eyes. He gazed up at the constantly changing starscape for a moment, and then glanced to his right. Squatting somewhere behind his right ear, helpfully almost entirely out of his view, was Aeryn Sun, her eyes also on the stars.  
  
They stayed there, silent, for a short time, and then Aeryn spoke.  
  
'Penny for them?' she said, softly, still carefully keeping her eyes away from him.  
  
Crichton smiled sadly, and then closed his eyes, his forehead creasing.  
  
'Nah, they're not worth that much, Aeryn,' he said, his cracking voice barely audible.  
  
She glanced down at him sorrowfully, a quick look taking in his dishevelled, unwashed appearance, and the dark circles of tiredness under his eyes. He seemed somehow aware of her gaze, though, and lifted his head, pulling himself up into a seated position. His legs were still sprawled out in front of him, and his shoulders were bowed; she was fairly sure he had only raised himself up from the floor to be certain of not meeting her eyes.  
  
Seeing him like this was devastating. Crichton got knocked down, and then he bounced back; found a way to laugh at it and then just picked himself up and dusted himself off, until the next disaster hit. That was Crichton; that was just the way he was - maybe the way all Humans were, she thought, after Fisher. Scorpius had been different, of course. Even Crichton's resilience couldn't simply walk away from that one with a smile and a joke; he had been changed forever by the chair. But hearing what had happened to Fisher had been another kind of torture, and she wasn't sure he'd be able to pull himself back from the brink this time. Worse, she knew he had to be wondering the same thing.  
  
'She might have had time to make it down to the planet before the Command Carrier's sensors picked her up,' she said, tentatively, to his back. 'If the storm was still blocking communications, she might have got away.'  
  
His head came up; she saw him scanning the stars briefly, before shaking his head.  
  
'No,' he said quietly. 'Even if she got away, they know where to look. It's just a matter of time.'  
  
Her brow furrowed; his voice was utterly desolate.  
  
'John, she was going to hand you over...' she began.  
  
'But she didn't,' he cut in, turning his head very slightly towards her; not so she could see his eyes, only the side of his face, the firm cast of his jaw. 'And I wouldn't blame her if she had,' he said, turning away again.  
  
'It's not your fault that she's out here, John. You didn't choose this, any more than she did.'  
  
'Tell that to her family,' he said, shortly.  
  
She stayed quiet for a moment, thinking over what Fisher had asked of Crichton, if he ever returned to Earth. It had seemed an odd request: she had asked him to lie, and he had agreed at once. But she recalled seeing Crichton recording what he'd thought might be his final words to his father - words that he knew would almost certainly never be heard, but still meant so much to him. More important than anything was leaving his father with a happy memory; something to make up for all those months of doubt and absence. But happy memories were short on the ground lately, and she hadn't seen the primitive recorder since then; it was another one of his ties with Earth that now seemed alien even to him.  
  
'At least now you know your father's all right,' she said, reaching up and hesitantly grasping his shoulder, squeezing it in an attempt to reassure him.  
Crichton breathed heavily, and looked up again at the stars. He shook his head slowly.  
  
'No,' he said, his voice quiet. 'Now I know there are two fathers down there who are never going to find out what happened to their kids.'  
  
She looked at the back of his head, swallowing her tears and letting her hand fall away from his shoulder, knowing it was no comfort to him; not yet, at least. She rose to her feet and walked slowly off the terrace, pausing in the entranceway to look back over her shoulder. Crichton had let himself slide backwards, down to the floor, and was lying as she had found him, sprawled on his back, utterly vulnerable. His eyes gazed up at the endless pattern of unfamiliar stars, but she knew he wasn't seeing them.  
  
Silently, she turned, and walked back inside.  
  
FIN  
  
  
  



End file.
